Transcendent of Time
by Wisteria Urs
Summary: Three years after the fall of Voldemort, Harry Potter seems to have a perfect life. That is, until he is thrown into the vortex of time travel, and sent back to ancient Hogwarts, where he meets a girl that will surely change his future.
1. Chapter 1

If Harry Potter had to describe his life at the moment, he would most likely give a small, pleased smile in return to the question. He was fresh out of his Auror training and was working at the Ministry, under the watchful eye of the new Minister and his mentor, Kinglsey. He had bought himself a small apartment in Hampstead, above a small market that smelled often of curry. He was well off, for most people his age. The honors he had received after the fall of Voldemort's regime were honors most people would only dream about receiving. His bank account was always healthy. He had a girlfriend, his school sweetheart, Ginny, who seemed to grow more beautiful everyday. What was best of all, for Harry, was that his friends, Ron and Hermione, lived in a small flat close by, so he could drop in whenever he pleased.

To one person, it would seem as if Harry Potter had the perfect life. Of course, they would have to be dense. Given his background, Harry would never have the perfect life, no matter how pleased he was with it. The ghosts of his past still haunted his dreams at night, and he could not escape them, no matter how hard he tried. Often, Harry would awake in the middle of the night, his shirt soaked in sweat, and his eyes moist from tears he had not realized he shed.

It was not only this that bothered Harry. For sometime now, three years to be exact, he had a hole in his chest. Not literally, mind you, but he figured that it was a hole in his heart he could not quite repair. He wondered, at times, what he could do to fix this hole, to repair it. After a while, he learned that not even the company of Ron or Hermione could fix this empty, lonely feeling. And even Ginny seemed to fail at completely filling the hole. Perhaps, Harry often wondered, it had to do with the loss of his parents. Maybe he was looking for something he would never have and was destined to fall prey to disappointment.

Sometimes, at work, Harry would find himself pondering upon this emptiness that lived within him. It would cause him to space out, he would find himself staring at papers where he had simply scribbled meaningless symbols with a broken quill. It bothered him quite a lot. And so, Harry Potter could not describe his life as perfect, because it simply was not. He was pleased, but not complete.

It so happened that much of this, much of Harry Potter's satisfactory life was about to change, unbeknownst to him.

One gloomy, cloudy day in London, two weeks before Christmas, Harry woke up early to go to work. He showered, dressed into the customary robes aurors often wore, ink-black and solemn. He attempted to flatten down his mess of hair, pushed his thick-rimmed glasses onto his nose, and then walked into the guest room, where Ginny lay, still asleep. She had come to stay for the weekend, taken time out of her busy Quidditch training schedule, which took place in the highlands of Scotland. He watched her sleep for a moment.

She was so peaceful as she slept. Her fiery red hair hung loose around her face, curling softly at the ends, which stirred as she breathed lightly in and out. Her lips were cracked the slightest bit, giving Harry a view of her pearly white teeth. Her eyelids twitched a little as she rolled over and let out a sigh as she burrowed back down in the quilt. Harry quietly leaned over her and kissed her softly on the cheek. Ginny's lips stretched into a smile and her eyes flickered open so she could catch a glimpse of Harry, who sat down on the edge of her bed.

"Hi," she said, sitting up, rather lazily. Her shirt was actually Harry's old Quidditch jersey, and for a moment, he desperately wanted it back.

"I have to go to work," he told her. Ginny reached for his hand and held it tightly in hers, quickly entwining their fingers together.

"I had a good weekend," she replied. She gathered her hair in the other hand and threw it over one shoulder, so it streamed down like a river of fire. Harry thought back on their weekend and wondered what she had seen in it that he hadn't. They hadn't done much, just sat around Harry's apartment and gone out to dinner at one point, and then visited with Ron and Hermione. They hadn't even had much time to themselves. As far as Harry was concerned, the fact that Ginny slept in the guest room and refused to sleep in his bed spoke volumes in itself.

"Me too," he said, purely to appease her. Ginny threw her arms around Harry's shoulders and kissed him deeply. His glasses cut into the bridge of his nose. Harry kissed her back, because this is when he appreciated Ginny the most, at certain times. She had changed so much in his eyes over the past few years. Now, she was a successful Quidditch player, and to Harry, it seemed as if her life purpose had become slightly off course. She didn't seem to have much time to spend with the people she loved, and she was worn down and tired, unlike the Ginny he knew. But when they kissed, it was the last memento of the Ginny he really loved, it was reminiscent of their first kiss. Harry smoothed back her hair as he pulled away. "Have a safe trip, alright? I'll see you in two weeks, for Christmas."

Ginny grinned. "I'll see you at the Burrow, Potter." Harry grinned back, stood up, and with one last look at her, left his apartment. He stopped down at the market, so he could pick up a sandwich for lunch. Jeff, the owner, accosted him with the usual questions about his odd attire ("Don't you get tired of wearing that damn dress?" "It's not a dress, Jeff."). After finally escaping with his ham sandwich in hand, Harry turned the corner, into a dingy, unused alley. When he was sure no one was watching, he apparated right into the front foyer of the Ministry.

"Hello, Harry," said his co-worker, Wanda, a woman in her late fifties with white hair she teased into a cone on the top of her head. In her hands, she held a box marked "Solved."

"Hello, Wanda," Harry greeted her, falling into step with her as they made their way to the lifts, caught amongst the masses of people moving off towards their offices. "What have you got there?"

"Solved cases," Wanda replied in her dry voice. "I'm supposed to take them down to the Department of Mysteries and file them down there."

"I'll take them," Harry volunteered. "An old friend of mine, Dean Thomas, works down there. I'd like to see him, if he has the chance."

Wanda paused in front of the lifts, obviously considering his offer. Her mouth twitched, and a small brown spot on the corner of her mouth twisted. Harry felt sick watching it.

"Fine," she said, handing him the box, which was much heavier than it appeared. "Make sure you go down to Rollin's office, alright? I need a large coffee anyway, better make my way over to the cart…" Wanda trailed off and turned around, heading back towards the entrance where Harry had apparated. Harry closed the lift door and pressed one of the subtle buttons on the wall. Immediately, the box shuddered and moved rapidly backwards, as if it was about to launch him into space. A few queasy moments later, the lift halted at the bottom of the Ministry. Harry stepped off onto the marble floors of the Department of Mysteries and looked around. As always, it looked the same. Dreary and grey. The lighting was sparse, and when it was found, it had an odd effect on the rock walls; the light made it look as if Harry was underwater.

Still clutching the box, Harry turned the corner, and opened the first, iron door on his right. The office was relatively cheery to the hall outside, and at the front desk sat a girl that was vaguely familiar, probably a Hogwarts student he had met before.

"This is Rollin's office, right?" He asked. The girl nodded with widened eyes. Harry sat the box down on the edge of her desk. "I have some case files I'm supposed to drop off here."

"Oh, thank you. We've been expecting these." The girl waved her wand, and the box soared up off her desk and into the next room.

"Is Dean Thomas here, by any chance?" Harry asked, peering around, as if he could catch a glimpse of his old friend.

"No, sorry." She grimaced. "Wrote in sick this morning."

"Ah." Harry nodded. "Alright, thanks," He backed out of the office and shut the door behind him. He had hardly made his way to the lift again when he heard a noise. It wasn't a noise easily heard, but rather, it appealed to Harry because it was that way. It was like a small gasp, a whisper, and then, a faint tinkling. Harry frowned and followed the noise, walking cautiously down the hallway. He didn't like the department of Mysteries much. After all he had witnessed down here, including his godfather's death, the place still managed to scare him, at least deep down. He followed the noise to the end of the hallway, where he could faintly make out the sounds coming from behind a light blue door, which seemed to sparkle, like diamonds. Harry held out a hand to open the door, but realized it was already ajar.

He stepped inside. It was an odd sight. There were shelves upon shelves made of mahogany, but all were empty and dusty. However, in the middle of the room, there was a large bowl, mounted on a marble stand. The curiosity in Harry unfurled, aroused. He stepped closer to the bowl and peered inside. There was some gold dust inside, and nothing else. Knowing full well that this beautiful golden dust could be something quite similar, Harry cautiously took his wand out from his jacket pocket. Ever so gently, he prodded the mound of dust with the tip of his wand. Nothing happened. Perplexed, Harry reached out and touched the dust. Nothing happened. Emboldened, Harry scooped some of the dust into his palm.

All of a sudden, there was a jerk in the room. It was as if the floor was torn away from him. There was a blur of colors, turning into a spectrum Harry couldn't fathom. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, and so, he stood, stock still, his hands by his side. Suddenly, he couldn't see anymore. And that's when his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry felt something tugging at the insides of his nostrils. No, not the inside of his nostrils. Instead, the mysterious force was working its way up to Harry's brain. The force began to pull apart Harry's brain, he could feel it, his head was ringing…

Harry gasped and shot up. He blinked rapidly and found that everything was out of focus. The strong scent of ammonia filled his nose, and he recoiled. It was that smell, so strong and overpowering, so concentrated, that had sent him reeling back. After a moment, Harry realized it must have been smelling salts.

"Look, he's in decent condition," a girl's voice proclaimed. Harry put a hand to push back the hair off his forehead, and then turned his face towards the sound of the girl's voice, which was bright and as clear as a bell. He must have collapsed in the Ministry. "Are these your…erm…"

"Glasses," Harry said, reaching out a hand. "Yes, thank you." A smooth-skinned hand placed the familiar frames in Harry's palm, and quickly, he shoved them on his face, eager to get away from the scene. However, as soon as Harry's eyesight came into focus, he realized that the task of escape would be quite impossible.

A gaggle of girl surrounded him, clutching books to their chests and studying him as if he was a foreign species. On first sight, he labeled them as schoolgirls, because most of them appeared to be around the age of sixteen or so. But these were no ordinary schoolgirls. They were wearing dresses quite unlike any Harry had ever seen. He paused for a moment, and suddenly, a memory was triggered. Back when he was much younger, still a student in muggle school, he had learned of an extremely powerful royal family named The Tudors. He remembered the images of the woman, all long-necked and haughty, wearing dresses exactly like the ones the girls before him wore.

As he stared at the girls in front of them, a bold looking one at the front of the group blushed and whispered something to the rest of them. The girls began to giggle loudly. The bold one shook back curly blonde hair and lowered her lashes. Harry, dazed and confused, remained silent and frozen.

"Are you feeling well?" The clear voice rung out again, and Harry turned quickly to see who was speaking to him. A girl with a solemn expression was kneeling by his side, a small vial and a handkerchief clutched in either hand. She frowned at Harry when he opened his mouth and then closed it, unable to respond. "You're not about to have a fit, are you?"

The gaggle of girls let out more peals of high-pitched laughter. Harry glanced towards the ceiling above him, which was crossed with rib vaulting. It was extremely familiar. And while it was comforting to recognize a familiar setting, Harry couldn't quite identify it. He had been wrong. This place was certainly not the Ministry.

"Where am I?" Harry asked the girl, who stared at him with serious eyes.

"Hogwarts, of course." She frowned at him. "Good god, Henry. You must have taken a hard fall." The girls twittered even more loudly, and Harry screwed up his eyes at the noise. His insides squirmed, and his brain felt like it was being tugged at. The smelling salts had irritated him. Clearly, he reckoned, he was hallucinating. This was some sort of odd dream. Maybe it was a nightmare.

The girl noticed his pained expression, and turned to the group of schoolgirls. "Go on," she commanded in a voice that held such power, it couldn't be reckoned with. "I'll be to class in just a moment. I'm going to make sure he's really well. Go on." She nodded fiercely to the bold-looking girl, who seemed to linger closer to Harry, but upon receiving the nod, the girl turned on her heel and flounced after her classmates.

"I'm not Henry, I'm Harry." Harry's voice was barely higher than a whisper. He turned and looked from side to side. The floors were stone, the walls were equipped with torches, and the windows were stained in bright flashes of crimson and canary yellow and deep navy. He even recognized the long, red rug that ran down the center of the hallway. At the end of the hallway was an antique table that held an ugly, blue china urn. Harry's heart leapt within him. That urn had graced the corner of the second floor when Harry had attended school. However, in his third year, on his way to class, Harry had run too quickly and knocked the table a slight bit, causing the urn to fall to the floor and smash into pieces. The squib caretaker, Filch, hadn't been able to fix the vase. But here it stood, elegant and proud, right in his line of vision.

"You seem unsteady." The girl laid a long-fingered hand on his forearm, and instinctively, Harry pulled his arm out of her grasp. He cradled his arm against his chest, and then glanced suspiciously at her.

Her face betrayed no emotion. She was not smiling; there was no twinkle in her eye, no hint of a joke in her voice. Obviously, she found Harry to be acting oddly, even mad. She believed in this mad fantasy constructed by his muddled mind. Harry wondered what had happened at the Ministry to make him have this strange dream.

All the while, she studied Harry with a shrewd expression. Her face, he decided, was exquisite. It was set in almost a scowl, and yet, the features of her face were finely wrought, as if crafted by a master of sculpture. Her nose was long and thin, her lips parted and red, her eyes a stunning collection of blues, greens, and surrounding the pupils, yellow. Her cheekbones were high on her face, and her chin was pointed. Her dark hair fell long and wavy down her back. She was not a conventional beauty, like Ginny. There was nothing to suggest the soft feminine beauty that Ginny so easily exuded. She was sharper, more definite, and more edgy. And yet, despite it all, she had a face one could trust.

"Tell me something," Harry said, narrowing his eyes and arching his back. "Where am I?"

"Hogwarts. I thought we had just finished discussing that."

Harry watched her face for a flicker of a lie. There was none. He glanced at her attire. It was like the girls he had seen before. She was dressed in a blue satin dress that almost matched her eyes perfectly. It had a fitted bodice, (lavishly decorated with gold thread and what looked like miniature pearls) cupped her narrow silhouette. The waist was dropped into a deep V, and her skirt fanned out around her. In her hair, which she had drawn back from her face, was a large gold ornament, again, embellished with precious jewels, that kept her hair pinned in place.

Harry spoke up again. "What year is it?"

Her expression changed from impassive to questioning, finally resting on worried. "You know what the date is, don't you?"

"Just tell me," Harry replied through gritted teeth.

She was quiet for a moment before answering. As she told him, she backed away from him slightly, as if telling him the date might cause him to explode.

"1616 Anno Domini," she murmured, the Latin rolling off her tongue rapidly, like water streaming forth down a mountainside.

"1616. 1616. 1616." Harry shook his head so violently his whole body shook. The girl stared at him still, her eyes wide now. She stood up and took a step away from Harry, but did not leave him. "No, it's not. It's 2001, you see. And I'm not Henry, whoever the bloody hell that is. I'm Harry Potter. I'm at the Ministry of Magic and it's 2001."

"What on earth are you rambling about?" The girl stooped so she could look Harry in the eyes, clearly evaluating his sanity. "There's no 2001, this is 1616, Henry. Stop saying your name is Harry, it's Henry, dammit." She immediately touched her mouth, as if asking for forgiveness for cursing. "You're frightening me. You must have hit your head harder than I originally thought."

"Ella?" A tall, broad shouldered boy appeared at the end of the hallway. He puffed out his chest and looked at Harry in a nasty manner. Harry was suddenly reminded strongly of Gilderoy Lockhart, who the boy resembled strongly, with his golden locks and satisfied smile.

"Holden." Ella, if that was her name, greeted the boy coldly, not taking her eyes off of Harry, who had sunk onto his elbows. He closed his eyes, wondering if he could fall asleep on the spot. Hopefully, he would wake up soon, hopefully on the floor of the Ministry, hopefully not insane.

"Comely lover, why aren't you in studies?" Harry, for the first time, realized how elaborate this whole dream sequence was. Holden spoke in old English, and as Harry glanced at Ella's schoolbooks, which lay scattered beside him (Harry supposed she must have dropped them when she arrived to revive him), he saw that the titles were also written in old English. Even Holden's clothes were ancient, he wore tights and flat shoes, with a rather long shirt that Harry identified as a tunic. Like Ella's clothing, Holden's was covered in jewels.

"Don't call me such things," Ella said, her tone annoyed. "I think Henry is hurt. Please help me, get him to his feet so I can take him to the Hospital Wing."

"He looks weak," Holden agreed, but made no move towards Harry.

"Please," Ella begged, looking over her shoulder at Harry, who had risen, shakily, to his feet. He reached out and touched the walls, which felt very cold, very smooth, and very much real. He wondered, for the first time, if he wasn't dreaming after all. Harry strained to remember what had happened before he had blacked out. There had been dust, golden dust. It had entranced him. Harry remembered the grains of it, falling through his fingers.

All of a sudden, Harry's head began to buzz. An old memory resurfaced in his mind. He was standing in the Hospital Wing, with Hermione. She had looped a chain around both of their necks, and held on to a small charm that was attached to the chain. She had turned the little charm three times, and it had tumbled over and over. Harry had watched as the golden dust inside the glass charm had slithered over the glass surfaces.

It was time. Harry had somehow come in contact with the dust of time. Harry cursed himself. He had somehow managed to send himself back in time, all the way to 1616. He felt panic tighten in his chest.

However, he didn't have much time to worry, because he felt a pain in the back of his head, as if he had been hit with a sledgehammer. And then, Harry sunk to the ground once more.

**A/N: **Please review! It actually motivates me to write chapters, which I have been slacking on. I work really hard on my stories, reviews are much appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

The mattress was firmer than Harry was used to, and as he turned onto his side, the mattress beneath him creaked, waking him from his sleep. He was in bed, not his, caught in a tangle of sheets that were unnaturally warm, but at the same time, had the texture of sandpaper. Though his vision was fuzzy, Harry could make out the shape of a small table that graced his bedside. Harry reached out and groped along its smooth surface, before finding his glasses and tenderly placing them on his face.

He was in the hospital wing, of course. He had spent a good amount of his school years in this place; he knew it far too well. Harry reached up to the back of his head, which throbbed painfully, and it felt like his skull was contracting. He had a large lump under his unruly hair.

A small noise suddenly captured his attention. It came from his other side, and Harry glanced over to see the girl from earlier, sitting by his side. She was sitting in a tall, wooden chair that looked to be extremely uncomfortable, yet she had managed to fall asleep. Her hair covered her face, which had rolled over to her shoulder as she slept.

Harry cleared his throat, and immediately, her eyes flickered open. She blinked a few times, fixed her hair, and sat up straighter.

"How are you feeling?" She asked immediately. She moved the chair a bit closer to Harry's side.

"I think it's safe to say I hit my head fairly hard," Harry replied, drawing his fingers away from his skull.

"You landed on your back." The girl smoothed out the pleats in the skirt of her dress. "We had to pick you up and bring you here, I was worried it might be a serious injury."

"I suppose I should thank you," Harry said, still suspicious of his sullen, serious creature, who was a complete contradiction in herself. How could someone so beautiful, be so quiet and frankly, angry looking.

"I suppose," she replied. "However, in this case, it wasn't anything, really. Isn't the duty of a woman to care for the injured?" Her voice was marred by extreme sarcasm. She knitted her eyebrows as she looked down at Harry, as if she was trying to figure him out.

"No, it's the duty of a healer," Harry corrected. "Regardless of gender…" Her eyes widened a little at that, but then narrowed immediately after, as if her revealing support of his words would get her in trouble. "Tell me, please, what is your name?"

She didn't speak at first. She leaned over Harry's bed, pushed his shoulder back down, so he collapsed onto the pillow. She pulled the blankets up around him, binding him to the bed. She did this all with a kind of tenderness that Harry wouldn't have guessed she possessed.

"You should know it. We've only been in the same year for the past seven years of our schooling." She folded the top of the sheet down over the top of the rough blankets, giving the bed a neater appearance. "It's Ella."

"Ella," Harry repeated. She didn't make any move or motion at the sound of her name. Harry took in the color of her dress once more, a rich blue. He remembered the schoolgirls she had been with when she had first found him. They too, had been all dressed in blue. "You're a Ravenclaw, then?"

"And you're a Gryffindor," she said in a monotone, sitting back down in a delicate sort of way, crossing her ankles and placing her hands in her lap. On first look, she would appear lady-like, even docile. But her eyes burned with such intensity it seemed impossible for her to ever be as quiet and polite as she acted. "Prefect, too. A high honor that seemed deserved at the time. However, I don't know why you were wearing these…" She reached down to the floor and hoisted up a bundle that Harry recognized as his robes. He looked down at his own body and found that he was wearing an extremely loose white shirt and pants that did not belong to him. They were extremely old fashioned, and with a jolt, Harry remembered what Ella had told him before he had fallen.

"I need you to help me," Harry suddenly said, sitting up again. He leaned over the side of his hospital bed, towards her. Ella didn't move, but stared unflinchingly at him.

"You need my help?" She asked, and unless Harry was incorrect, he believed there was a trace of disbelief, and possibly, a small sliver of hope in her tone.

"Yes. I trust you, though, truthfully, I've just met you." Ella flinched, as if she was about to correct him, but then settled back in her chair, tapped her fingertips across her lower lip. "Will you listen to me, Ella?"

At the sound of her name, she softened. "That's what I was made to do. Listen, that is."

Harry cleared his throat. He pulled aside the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Immediately, Ella stood, as if to insist he lay down once more. An expression of worry crossed her features. Harry held up a hand, and then stood on his own. His limbs rushed with blood, and he stretched. Carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed and stretched his legs out.

"You're going to think I'm mad. I daresay you already think I do. But I meant what I said before. I might have sounded like I was rambling, but I wasn't. I'm not a raving lunatic. My name is Harry James Potter. I work in the Auror office at the Ministry of Magic. I am twenty years old. Ask me anything, anything about myself; I can give you a full background. My name is not Henry."

For a moment, Ella just sat there, her face unreadable. "Potter, you say? Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Harry replied, relieved that she hadn't accused him of being a complete nutter.

"But…what about Henry Potter?" She asked, confused. "Are you attempting to outwit me? It's a pathetic jest, if that's what you're doing."

"I don't know any Henry Potter." Harry became so frazzled and frustrated that he reached out and grabbed her shoulders, as if to get her to feel his emotions, too. Immediately, when he realized his grip on her was completely inappropriate, he let go. Ella had not moved an inch, and rather than freeing herself, she had screwed up her face and closed her eyes. As he let go, her eyes opened, and then quickly, she looked down, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. "Maybe I'm his descendant. I just…I don't know what's going on. One moment I was standing in the Ministry, and then I'm here, in the year 1616…with you." He glanced hesitantly at Ella, who was staring straight ahead, as if looking through him, not at him. Her eyes flickered upwards, landing on his face. "Please, help me to understand. I trust you."

"I believe you," Ella suddenly said. The smallest bit of a smile played over her lips, and the right corner of her mouth twitched upwards.

"You do?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Your actions don't lie, no matter what your words are," she replied carefully. "I could feel your complete frustration in your hands. You weren't rough, but there was a desperation in the way you touched me, as if you were begging me to believe you, and in a way, weren't you? When you speak about this life you had…this life in the future, when you speak of Harry Potter, you grow agitated. You blush faintly, in the neck. You grasp at your hair, and you flinch when you hear otherwise."

She was exceptionally perceptive. Harry was reminded of Hermione; except that as Ella supplied the knowledge and observations she put forth, she was so modest it was almost impossible to distinguish if she had really come up with the information herself.

She now crossed her legs and smiled outright at him. She held a form of power, and for some reason, it pleased her greatly. She glowed, even. It was startlingly odd and inexplicably beautiful.

"What should I help you with?" She questioned next.

"I…" Harry wasn't sure what to say. When he had asked for help, he had really been asking for someone just to believe him, for someone not to think he was crazy. The answer to her question was out there, floating around, somewhere in his brain. He strained to retrieve it. "You could help me get home. And I mean, not London now. I mean home in the sense I need to get back to 2001."

Ella didn't laugh, as Harry half-expected her to. "And how, pray, do you propose I do that?"

Harry froze for a moment, caught like a deer in the headlights. Then, thinking quickly, he came up with a response. "Well, I have an idea of how. I need to be able to get access to the library. I need to read all the books on Time Travel; I'm looking for something incredibly specific. But to do this, I'll need to be seen as a student. I need you to teach me everything that has been happening at Hogwarts, everything you know about me. I need to know all there is about Henry Potter. I need you to be my mentor, in a way."

"Interesting," Ella mused, suddenly rising from her seat. She adjusted her hair ornament, which was beginning to slide down, letting her dark hair escape and fall over her shoulders. "I suppose I could be of some help, but probably not too much, I'll warn you now."

"Thank you." Harry was so grateful that he reached out and squeezed her hand gently. He felt Ella's body stiffen, and then relax.

"It's really nothing," she told him. "I can tell you some things that I know, but then I'll leave you alone, so you can mull it over and sleep. I will have to do more research."

"Give me what you have."

"Henry Potter…well…you, I mean…him. He is in Gryffindor, a seventh year. He's prefect, Head Boy. He is rather heavily endowed, thanks to his parents. His wealth is unbelievable, but he doesn't make much of an attempt to show it. Henry's never excelled at school, he's always been preoccupied…" she paused and smirked. "With his female classmates. Henry is known to be rather rowdy, outspoken, athletic, and a womanizer. Overall, he is a favorite of the headmaster, Professor Stevenson."

Harry watched her recite with a feverish relish, as if she had been holding in this information for too long and it was just exciting to finally tell someone. When she finished, she clasped her hands together behind her back in an almost submissive manner, waiting for him to say something.

Harry cleared his throat and absorbed it all. "Head Boy…rowdy…outspoken…I can do that well enough." He looked up at Ella, and in the dim light of the torches on the wall, her features didn't appear as sharp as they first had. This creature, this odd girl, entranced him so. There was an essence she exuded, something he had not seen in anyone else. "And what about you?"

"What about me?" Ella looked taken aback.

"Well, you're really the only person I know here. You're my only ally. It only seems natural I know about you."

Ella seemed to close down at the mention of a personal connection. Her eyes burned. "My name is Ella Harper." She bit down on her lip. "I'm a Ravenclaw. Seventh Year. Prefect. That's all there really is to know."

Harry did not press her further. She gave him a slight nod of appreciation.

"I think I'll go to bed now." She smoothed down her dress again, and the fixed one of the pearls on her bodice, which was out of place. Harry couldn't help but notice the rise of her bosom, and he felt ashamed of himself. "I'll come here in the morning to see how you are feeling."

Without another word, she pushed her chair aside and began to leave the room, her dress sweeping the floor in an elegant manner.

"Wait!" Harry shouted out. She looked at him over her left shoulder. He felt himself ask on an impulse. "Why do you believe me?"

"Because, Harry," she said with a small, winning smile. "You thought you were going mad. Some people think me mad, and I only wished someone would listen to me, to save my sanity." She closed the Hospital Wing doors behind her with a bang of finality.


	4. Chapter 4

Hogwarts, though it was hundred of years older than Harry had ever seen it, was almost the same. At least, to Harry, the castle was unchanged, even if the students were radically different. He found that upon departing from the hospital wing, dressed in a ridiculous, jewel encrusted garb that Ella had left him, he found his way quickly and easily to the Gryffindor tower.

The Pink Lady's portrait was still there, as it had been when Harry was a student. He breathed heavily upon seeing her, both relieved and excited to see a familiar face. She had been sleeping when he approached, but as he reached the top stair of the tower, her eyes snapped open, and she glanced down at him with a beaming expression.

"Mr. Potter! I am so glad to see you're feeling better. I heard you had a nasty fall." Unless Harry imagined it, she actually _giggled _upon seeing him. He tried to remember what Ella had told him about…well, himself. _Rowdy, outspoken, athletic. A womanizer. _

"Er…I would say so myself, but a fall could hardly keep the ladies entertained, now could it?"

The pink lady giggled aloud this time, her chiming laughter echoing down the flight of stairs. "Oh Mr. Potter, I do think I am blushing. Now go on and give me the password so you can run along to class."

"The password," Harry repeated.

"Yes, the password." Damn it all, he hadn't a clue what the password was. He thought of Ella and nearly cursed aloud. Of course, he was being unfair, she wouldn't know that password any better than he would, but he felt someone needed to take the blame for his sudden ignorance. Harry rocked back and forth on his feet and puzzled over what it could possibly be, all the while trying to smile charmingly at the Pink Lady. She raised an eyebrow and waited.

"Henry!" Harry turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered boy his age climbing the stairs with quick steps. The boy smoothed back his auburn hair and grinned winningly at Harry, a dimple sinking deep into his left cheek. "I'd heard you just got out of the hospital wing. How are you doing? All in good health, I trust?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "I mean…yes. I am doing well." He felt like nearly slapping himself. How had he ever thought he could get by doing this? From the look this kid was giving him, it was clear that Henry Potter, whoever that was, was a master of words. He was eloquent of speech and did not say such things like _yeah. _

"Good to hear it." The boy turned to the portrait. "Argentum mucro." Harry repeated the words over and over in his head, trying to memorized them. The boy glanced at him as they walked into the common room together, his eyebrows furrowed at Harry. "Henry? What are those? Those things on your eyes?"

"Bifocals," Harry replied, attempting to sound as smart and dignified as he possibly could. "Yes. My mother had them made for me, to improve my eyesight."

"I see." The boy let out a bawdy round of laughter. "You had better not let Annabelle see you wearing those."

"Annabelle?" Harry repeated, confused, but the boy had plowed on without so much as a look at Harry. "Come along. Get your books. I don't want to be late to Charms again, I do think Professor Vale will be out to have my head."

"Charms." Harry almost laughed. It seemed so ridiculous, being here, getting ready to do something so normal as to go to Charms class. He wanted to yell: _But I've already taken Charms! I already have a job! I've already left school!_ But he didn't need more people, even in this time period, to think he was a nutter. He picked up a stack of books left on one of the round tables and found the name Henry Potter enscribed on the front page. "Last class was difficult. I thought I would never understand the material."

"Confunding charms aren't useful," the boy complained, and Harry had to choke down a laugh at his indignant tone. They left the tower and decended down the stairs, passing other students who either wished them cheerful 'tidings' or bowed or curtsied. It was all Harry could do not to wince when this occurred. "My brother tried to use one on my Lord father once. I thought father was going to curse him he was so angry. He cut off Robert's allowance and that was the last time I saw Robert…I think father made him join the Wizard's Alliance."

"The Wizard's Alliance?" Harry repeated as they stepped onto one of the moving stairwells. A girl on the stairwell with them gave Harry a coy glance and licked her lips. Harry nearly looked away, as he normally would do, but as Henry, he forced himself to give her a smile. By the reaction she gave him, his smile was awkward, if not menacing looking. Harry closed his eyes and tried to think of Ginny, but the image of his girlfriend simply would not come to mind.

"Good god, Potter. It's like you never listen to anything about politics. The Wizard's Alliance. You know, wizarding knights and other types. Sad men, really. Those who have sworn not to marry or have children."

"Oh," Harry said. "Well…yes, of course. It just seems so sad to me. I rarely give it thought. What a pitiable organization."

"Easy for you to say," the boy said with a wicked smile as they turned to corner to the charms classroom. "Not all men are so lucky to have a lover so pretty as Annabelle."

Harry simply nodded, wondering who this Annabelle possibly could be, but he walked into class without saying a word. The first thing he spotted was Ella, sitting in the middle row of the class, seemingly by herself. She had a whole table to herself, and it was covered in books and a quill and rolls of parchment that were covered with neat, concise handwriting. Harry ducked his head and sat down to the Gryffindor boy he supposed was his friend.

"Potter," a voice boomed. Harry turned to see Ella's friend, Holden, sitting behind him. He wore a wide smile that did not seem to give any real warmth or dimension to his face. He leaned over the table and clapped Harry on the back, with much more force than necessary. "I trust you feel better after your fainting spell?"

Harry heard a few titters rise around him, and he was strongly reminded of Draco Malfoy's insults during his third year of school. "Some. I do suppose though, my head suffered more of an injury than your golden one would have. Given how thick your skull is." Harry turned away and he heard loud laughter break out around him, just as the Professor walked into class. Harry's eyes found Ella, who had glanced somewhat meekly over her shoulder to watch the commotion unfold in the back of the class. When she caught his eyes, she looked away as quick as could be. Harry felt himself flush.

"Ah, I am pleased to see you all in such high spirits," Professor Vale started, stroking his short, auburn beard with long, thin fingers. "Because today, we will need them for cheering charms." Harry heard his seat partner mumble something angry and incoherent. "I'd like you all to divide into pairs, please. And gentleman, perhaps you could find a fair maiden to practice with, hmm? Would it not be the gallant thing to teach a lady to perform a spell?" There was much groaning, and then the sound of rustling as the boys rose to their feet. Harry's seat partner opened his mouth and looked around. Harry darted around him and slipped through the aisle before sitting down next to Ella. Her mouth dropped open and she looked around, as if he might be stopped.

"I pray, Madam Harper, that you will be my partner over the course of this hour," Harry proposed with a rather dramatic tone, and Ella frowned. A shadow loomed over Harry, and he turned to see Holden standing at his side, staring at Ella with wide eyes.

"I…" Ella began to say.

"Ser Holden!" Professor Vale let his voice rise considerably. "Please find another seat. And quickly now. It seems Lord Potter had beaten you to it, has he not? Here, there's a seat here."

Harry glanced out of the corner at his eye at Ella, who was steaming. Her dark hair shone, as did her eyes, which pierced so violently that Harry could have imagined her shooting invisible weapons with them.

"What are you doing?" She demanded as soon as the Professor had set them to work. "Are you mad?"

"I think you know the answer to that," Harry said. "Look, you're the only person I know. Or…sort of. Alright?"

"If you're ever going to slip in unnoticed, Potter, I suggest you start sitting with your allies," she pointed out. She pointed to the wide-shouldered boy from the Gryffindor tower. "Such as him. Richard Tiburon. A childhood friend of yours. A bit lower in class, but distinguished, nonetheless."

"Fascinating," Harry said. "Truly. What does station even matter?"

"It doesn't," Ella said in a low voice. "If you're a woman."

"Lord Potter. Why haven't you even begun to teach Madam Harper the spell? I daresay she will pick it up as quickly as you begin to charm her, hmm?"

Now it was Ella's turn to blush. She glared at the Professor as soon as he turned away.

"You don't need any help," Harry said faintly, staring at her face, which was set and determined and pale. She bit her lip fiercely, and glanced at him with confusion in her eyes. "You're smarter than us all, I'd guess."

"Maybe you're not a complete arse after all," Ella said, flicking her wand. Harry felt his spirits rise and he couldn't help but feel himself smile. "But you shouldn't guess that, you should know by now."


	5. Chapter 5

It was on the third (conscious) day of Harry's stay at Hogwarts; he found that Henry Potter's life was far more complicated than Ella had let on. As he sat in the Great Hall that morning with Richard, 'breaking fast', he received a sudden shock as he was introduced to a new development in 'his' life.

"Would you mind passing the marmalade?" Richard asked, reaching out a butter knife in Harry's direction. Harry silently pushed forward the small, crystal pot filled with the sweet orange substance and focused on his peppered eggs and strips of bacon. In front of him was not the pumpkin juice he had been accustomed to during his school days, but rather, watered down ale and water. Harry poured himself a glass of water and tore a piece of bread of a fresh-baked loaf.

There was a sudden flurry of activity further down the Gryffindor table, closer to the first year's end, and Harry glanced up to see a honey-blonde girl strolling his way, holding the skirts of her crimson gown the slightest bit above her ankle. Her skin was peaches and cream, with pink cheeks and wide, innocent blue eyes. Her hair was wavy with a few truly curly strands that hung down past her small, nearly flat chest. Around her neck was a red satin ribbon that carried the weight of a large, perfectly round pearl. When she saw Harry watching her, she smirked and batted her eyelashes.

"Henry," she said in a flirtatious tone as she came to a stop behind him, her skirts ruffling softly. She laid a soft, delicate hand on Harry's shoulder and contracted her fingers lightly, giving him a soft squeeze. "Darling. I'm so sorry I didn't come to see you when you were in the hospital wing. Father simply would not let me return to school before my sister's ceremonies were over."

_Annabelle, _Harry realized.

"That's fine, of course," he said rather stiffly. He closed his eyes and tried to think of Ginny. Ginny, his girlfriend. Ginny with her once fiery attitude and hair to match. Surprisingly, all that came to mind was Ella and her hardened expressions. "Won't you sit…darling?" He offered her his hand and helped her onto the bench next to him.

"Good morrow, Annabelle," Richard greeted her with a flourish of his hand and a gracious smile. "I hear your sister's wedding was absolutely wonderful. I offer you my congratulations."

"Thank you, Richard," Annabelle replied with a tight smile. She pushed back a strand of her hair and blinked her lime-green eyes. She nudged Harry and pointed to the pitcher of ale, and he poured her a small goblet. "The whole affair was exquisite, I'll grant it that. She might have been marrying that wretched Hungarian, but they do know how to throw beautiful faires. I was surprised the groom could stand to dance, honestly, the dances were so quick and wonderful, I thought my knees would give out and my ribs would burst from laughter!"

"The groom…He is of the Boros family, is he not?"

Annabelle let out a small tinkle sardonic laughter. "Richard, that family is far from being close to mine. They fought fiercely at the battle of Nograd. There is no love there. No, she was married to an Engrad. Twenty years her senior. A fearsome man, round as a barrel and hairy as an ape."

The more she spoke, the more Harry found he resented her. She might have been fair in the face, but she was ill of soul. Her beautiful face was maimed by her harsh words and bitter attitude.

Then, she turned her attention to Harry. "Dearest, father wished me to pass word along with you. He begs your lord father to write him an owl at his soonest convenience. There seems to be some sort of problem with the wedding plans your lady mother has proposed. Nothing concerning the terms of the marriage, of course, but the date? My father wishes to have us married as soon as possible."

Harry glanced at Richard, who was listening unabashedly. Harry gaped a little, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. _Marriage. Father. Lord. Lady. Good god, I can't do this. I absolutely cannot. _Harry thought he might vomit. He heard someone calling his name, and looked up to see Ella, lips pursed, standing behind Richard.

"I'm sorry," Annabelle said in a rude tone. "Perhaps you didn't notice, but we were in the middle of a conversation?"

"It's quite alright, Annabelle," Harry said, regaining his composure. He shot her a glare, and Annabelle bowed her head in compliance, though she looked fierce about it. "Yes, Miss Harper?"

"I was hoping you could help me with the charms work from the other day. I haven't quite seemed to grasp the full concept of it yet. You must forgive my complete lack of intelligence." The resentment of the words was so strong in her voice that Harry could have laughed. She raised an eyebrow, and Harry caught on. She wasn't talking about spells, per se, but rather…_research. _

"Of course. I would be happy to." Ella offered him a curt nod, curtsied, and bustled out of the Great Hall, glancing over her shoulder at the Gryffindor table once more.

"What was that about?" Richard and Annabelle chimed, watching her go.

"She was my pair in charms yesterday." Harry lowered his voice in an attempt to sound demeaning and secretive. "She wasn't doing well with the work at all. She struggled awfully."

"Figures," Annabelle laughed, gathering her own skirts and slipping out from the bench. She adjusted herself primly and leaned back in over the table to hiss gossip at Harry and Richard. "Holden confided in Mary Priestly that she infuriates him with her focus on schoolwork. It's as if she can think of nothing else. Though, he's convinced she's stupid, very stupid indeed. She tried to correct him on a subject once and he couldn't have been more unhappy."

"Correcting Holden?" Richard frowned. "Not the wisest idea I've ever heard."

"Apparently, he showed her what her cheekiness deserved." Annabelle smirked widely and knowingly. "I'll see you both later, yes? I must be running off to Potions."

She curtsied to the pair, sent Harry another flirtatious glance, and left the Great Hall in a hurry.

"She's lovely," Richard said.

"Yeah," Harry replied in a sarcastic tone, not bothering to correct his language. "Lovely."

If Annabelle was lovely and Ella was cheeky and insolent, Harry thought the world was sorely sad and mixed up. Ella was waiting for him in the corner of the library that evening, at a round mahogany table with a set of pink velvet chairs. She twiddled her wand in between her fingers nervously, and as she approached, she stood and sat so quickly she almost crumpled to the ground in her haste.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, lurching forward as she began to fall.

"Fine, thank you." She leaned back in her chair as Harry sat, and smoothed back a long, glossy hair that had escaped from her silvery hairnet, studded with diamonds. She glanced around, somewhat nervously, and then leaned across the table, her eyes sparkling with the depth of her discovery. "I think I may have found what you used to get here." She leaned under the table, and again, Harry found his eyes drawn to the curve of her white, rising and falling bosom as she did so. He averted his eyes and stared at the ceiling until she emerged, a thick book in her hands.

"Time, Space, and The Magical Boundaries That Bind Them?" Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry you had to read that."

Ella shrugged. "I found parts of it interesting."

"Really?"

"Parts," she emphasized. "Not the whole." She flipped a few pages, then stopped on one with a bent page, then scanned it down, her finger flying over the words. "Ah." She leaned her head over the book and began to read. "Theories of Time: Ariaite. This rare crystal, found exclusively off the rocky coast of South Africa, has been known to possess qualities that some claim to have concentrated Time Traveling power. Discovered by Benjamin Blount in 1300, he mined the crystal heavily in order to cure his sister of a nasty case of dragon boils. He mistakenly took the golden crystal for another ingredient. Upon grinding the crystal in his mortar, Blount found that in coming in contact with the raw dust, he was transported to another time period. Blount returned soon to his current era without any memory of his time spent in either the future of the past."

"That doesn't sound exactly encouraging," Harry interrupted. Ella closed the book with such force that clouds of dust squeezed out of the pages.

"Well, seeing that you're the apparent genius you are, why don't you do the research, Potter?"

"I mean…" Harry trailed off. "I'm not a genius, but it just sounds…odd."

"It's the only option there seems to be right now," Ella pressed. "It's plausible, isn't it? Odd or not."

"I suppose. Did it say anything else?"

"Other wizards have reported it works. But…because they have no memory of the time they spent in the other time period, there are no reports on how they ever got back to their original state, if they did at all."

"Huh." Harry touched the book, wishing he could find someway, somehow, and soon, to get back home. Home to his apartment and Ron and Hermione. And…however reluctantly he wished it…home to Ginny. But when he glanced at Ella, he thought that maybe, with her help, he would be home sooner than he thought.

"Is that all?" Ella said, somewhat icily, standing up and clutching the book against her chest. As she did so, her left sleeve fell down a little, revealing a bony wrist, and alabaster arms, thin as a rail. It also happened to reveal a ring on her finger, a golden band inlaid with rubies and diamonds.

"That ring," Harry said suddenly, staring intensely at it. "That's not your house colors."

"You're perceptive."

"No, all I meant was it's partially Gryffindor colors." He smiled. "House regret? Longing for something you don't have?"

Ella looked at him with sudden hatred that Harry thought was undeserved. And then, before she could act on her hatred, Harry saw her arm shake and tears rise to her eyes. She wiped them away as fast as she could, but Harry saw them all the same. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"Of course you did. You weren't thinking." Ella drew her sleeve down again, the bell-shaped fabric covering her hand and the ring. "The ring is not mine. It belongs to another family."

"Whose?" Harry asked. He was reminded of a necklace he had given Ginny once, which looked remarkably like the ring. In the future, did this jewelry have meaning that he was unaware of? A past he did not know?

"Holden's family," she told him, beginning to back up ever so slowly, away from him. "The House of Greenwood." Ella dropped her gaze. "He's my betrothed, you see."


	6. Chapter 6

Harry thought that one of the most confusing things about living in this era was the fact that everyone thought they were much older than they really were. Perhaps it was the way they spoke and acted, so formally and cordially. Maybe it was the thickly drawn borders of social and economic statuses. But Harry thought that it was probably the way people were bred and brought up. It was rooted in the core of their feelings and thoughts that they ought to act so icily and independently and even cunningly. It seemed that no one did anything just to be kind or help another. It was all for personal gain.

When it came down to it, all of this accumulated in almost every aspect of every life that dwelled within the Hogwarts castle in the year 1616. And that, as far as Harry was concerned, included betrothals.

Harry quickly learned that almost every seventh or sixth year was betrothed to be married—if they weren't already. Many of the seventh years were married, regardless if it was to another student or a partner that lived out of the country. The sixth years weren't usually married, such as the case with Ella, but would be within the next two years. Harry worried now, that he, or rather, Henry, would be soon whisked away to marry Annabelle, which would surely put a dent in his plans to return home.

As Harry sat in a rather drab potions class one afternoon, he found himself thinking of home. He missed his bed, his curry-scented apartment, Ron and Hermione. He thought of Ginny, but strangely, didn't feel that he missed her. He imagined returning home to her, trying to hold her and speak to her. He tried to imagine proposing to Ginny, calling her his betrothed. Harry nearly snorted out loud. He couldn't imagine himself married, no less to Ginny, who was off in Australia almost every day of the year.

As Harry, or rather, Henry, prepared to leave potions that day, he received a surprise as Ella stopped by his desk in a rather brusque manner. She wore her usually blue dress, but today, it was a deep navy, the bodice crisscrossed with silver ribbons. The sleeves were puffed at the top, but were narrowly tailored around the wrist, showing off her long elegant fingers, and the shining engagement ring.

"Henry," she said as she approached him, coming to a stop at the table he shared with Richard. Richard began to move more slowly, putting his quill in his rucksack with ease it did not deserve. "I'm sorry to approach you like this."

"Not at all," Harry replied. He bowed his head, as he had learned that this was custom, and Ella attempted to curtsey, but was shunted slightly aside by her classmates as they fled the classroom.

"If I could beg your assistance once more, I would hope you could be so kind as to help me with my schoolwork once more. I seem to be struggling in a most dreadful manner."

"Anything for you, Ella." Henry spoke, but Harry meant it. He knew, as once as the words had slipped his mouth that he had spoken out of turn. She was a highborn lady, he guessed, and referring to her by her first name, apparently such an intimate term, he had embarrassed her in front of Richard. He expected her eyes to flash with anger, but instead, she just blushed. "M'lady," he corrected quickly.

She nodded and headed out on her way. Richard followed Harry out of the classroom, glancing at him knowingly every few seconds or so.

"What?" Harry asked as they climbed the steps to the Gryffindor tower. "What do you keep looking at me for?"

"Ella Harper," he said slowly, letting the words roll off his tongue like honey. "I can't say I wasn't surprised."

"Surprised about what?" Harry replied.

"Come on Henry. I've seen the way you two look at each other. Where do you steal away? The Ravenclaw tower? How difficult is she to court, really? I've heard she's angry and bitter and awful."

"Who, Ella?" Harry laughed. "I'm not courting her, no more than I am Annabelle."

"You and Annabelle?" Richard furrowed his brow. "I thought…haven't you two…?"

Shit. Shit. Harry had really blown it this time. He needed to keep up the image. He was so awful at this that he really could have cried. Harry sunk into one of the cushy armchairs by the fire.

"Annabelle is of no interest to me," he said with a careless wave of his hand. "She's exquisite, that is true, but her beauty is nothing compared to the dowry her father has promised my father. There are plenty of pretty girls in the country, and I plan to see them and court them, whether I marry or not."

"So…Ella?"

"Not Ella." Harry thought carefully before running a finger over his bottom lip. "Can you keep a secret, my friend?"

"If it is a secret that will not betray you nor I."

"No, but it might put a house comrade to shame. I have heard Holden's boasts about Ella's intelligence and how his far surpasses hers. But he is wrong. His betrothed is clever far beyond he could ever hope to be. In truth, she is helping me with my schoolwork, not the other way around."

"But…she is a woman." Richard seemed so confused that he bit down on his lip too hard, and then yelped. His lip turned red and immediately began to swell. "I do not see how this is possible."

"Do not underestimate the fairer sex," Harry warned, holding up a finger and thinking on Ella and Hermione. "I daresay she could be the smartest person I've ever met, regardless of her gender."

"That's a shame then," Richard sighed. "A gift wasted on such a cold woman." He pushed himself off the couch and strolled over to watch a rather intense game of wizard's chess between two seventh years. Harry stared into the fire and thought about Ella. He didn't find her cold, he had seen that she wasn't, but perhaps that was because she was helping him. He could see how others would interpret her behavior to be impolite. She was simply headstrong, which no one quite expected from a woman at this time.

Harry met Ella that evening in the corner of the library, where he had met her a few days ago. She was sitting in the chair he had been sitting in previously, and when he came to greet her, she rose quickly. She was nervous, he could tell. She was twisting her fingers round and her eyes darted back and forth, as if she was waiting for someone to intrude on their conversation.

"Do you mind if we take a walk?" She queried as soon as Harry came to bow to her.

"Of course. Do you have a place in mind?"

"The astronomy tower?" She suggested quietly. "It's secluded. We won't be bothered. It's beautiful out there, truly."

"I remember." Harry thought back to his astronomy lessons and nodded. "Let's go." He offered her his arm as they began to walk up the steep flight of stairs to the tower. Ella hesitated, and then softly placed her hand on his arm, curling her fingers around his wrist for support.

"I want you to know I've been working very diligently," she said. "I've looked into all possibilities of getting you home. Potions, spells, even instruments I could construct. I'm not ruling out any possibilities."

"That's very kind of you," Harry said. "I really do appreciate it."

"I figure it's a kinder fate then being stuck here to marry Annabelle," she pointed out. Harry let out a booming laugh as he pushed open the black door to the astronomy tower, and Ella smirked the slightest bit. She strolled out into the cold air, and wrapped her arms around herself. She looked back at Harry, her face white and statuesque. "Tell me about your life," she said suddenly. "I mean, not Henry's. I wouldn't expect you to really know much about that."

"Harry's life?" Harry asked, and she nodded. Harry sighed and went to the edge of the tower barricades. He leaned his elbows on their flattened tops and stared up at the stars, which glittered back at him. "I'm not sure what to tell you."

"Tell me about your world." Ella's voice was suddenly seized with passion, and she came up alongside Harry. A tendril of hair had escaped her hairnet, as it usually did, and it blew in the wind. "Everything. I've been…ever so curious."

"Well…" Harry said slowly, thinking it over. "I live in London. The city is so grand, so large. I live in a neighborhood that isn't that large, I would say. There's apartments-"

"Apartments?"

"They're like homes, but they're smaller. There's usually a few in every building, you see. It saves space. It rains all the time, but is that any different? I didn't think so. I love my life sometimes. I eat what I want, I say what I want, I speak to who I want and say what I want."

"Oh, of course. What do you do as a means of living? Do you hold lands?"

"I work at the Ministry, as an auror." When her face went blank, Harry rushed to explain. "I catch Dark Wizards. Evil wizards."

"Oh." She puzzled for a moment and smiled a little. "I don't think I have even heard of an evil wizard in my time. Do you have a lover?"

Harry choked on his own breath. "I…" His thoughts went back to Ginny. Did he? He wondered if he could call her that. The thought was laughable, really. They slept in separate bedrooms; saw each other maybe twice every three months, if they were lucky. And even when he did see her, he wasn't as happy as he had been to see her when they were younger. "I did."

"Friends?"

"The best." Harry smiled. "One of them is a witch that reminds me extraordinarily of you. She's absolutely gifted, she is. Smartest witch of my year."

"Really?" Ella's interest was perked. "What does she do?"

"As a job?" Ella nodded. "She works in the Ministry, too. She makes laws. She argues for what she thinks is right and has her beliefs made into laws."

"That's incredible," Ella breathed. "Oh and to think, I could only be a healer."

"Why's that?"

"Well, that's one of the only options," she sighed. "For a woman of my age, there are three options in life. One may get married, like I will, inevitably. One may become a woman of the Gods, like my older sister is. That is for the women who are usually one of three things: poor of circumstance, poor of mind, or lacking in beauty. Or, finally, a woman can become a healer, but not for long, because after a while, she must choose one of the other options to abide by for the rest of her life."

"I bet that just tears you up," Harry said softly, staring at her. Ella nodded, her lips pressed tightly together.

"It does." She reached up and drew the hairnet off her hair, allowing the bundle of it to fall down her back. It tumbled down, all curls and waves and came to a rest at the small of her back. She ran a hand through it and it blew violently, flying all around her face like a wild veil. "I dream of a place where I can do what I want. I do believe you might take that for granted."

Harry remembered the way he used to grumble about work to Ron. Sometimes, it was half-heartedly, but she was right. He took his life and freedom for granted, whereas Ella, well, she was changed to a life she did not want.

"I want you to come back with me," he said on impulse.

"Pardon?" She sputtered.

"Come back to the future," Harry suddenly said. "Ella, don't you see? You can have the life you dream of, the life you so desire. It can be your escape."

"Why, Harry, that wouldn't be an escape at all."

"You called me Harry, " he replied, shocked to hear his name for the first time in so long. Ella plowed along as if she had not heard him.

"I'm only seventeen," she protested. "Not yet a lady of twenty. I have no skills, no money aside from my father's estate. You're mad, absolutely mad."

"I do remember a time when you told me I wasn't mad." Harry reached out and grabbed her wrist, and this time, Ella didn't flinch away. "You don't need to worry about those things. In my life, well, I might not be a lord, but I certainly have some sort of stature in the wizarding world. I can get you an apartment; I can get you a job. You're smart, Ella. I can see that. I can see you're destined for a life beyond this one."

"But I…" her voice ran out. "I'm not sure."

"Would you rather stay here?" Harry asked. "With Holden?" Her face crumpled, and Harry wished to hold her against him, brush back her wild hair, and tell her that everything was alright, she would be okay, that the future awaited her with open arms. He wished to take care of her.

"No," she suddenly said, her voice strong and resounding. "I suppose you're right. If I can figure a way home for you…well, I hope to come along, if you'll have me."

"Have you? How could I not? You're doing me the largest favor I could possibly think of," Harry asked. "Anything you need, Ella, I'd do it. Anything at all."

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes watching his face quietly. "You're a gentleman."

"Sometimes time doesn't change anything," Harry laughed. Ella adjusted the sapphires in her ears, and then pulled her hair up into a bunch at the back of her neck. She slipped her hairnet over it again, tucking in the loose strands. She raised one hand and placed it on his upper arm, kindly.

"Your eyes," she said. "They're not like Henry's. They're green. Like emeralds."

"Like my mothers."

She nodded and then turned away, as if she had shown too much of herself, revealed too much admiration. When she opened the door to slip back inside, she smiled at him. A wide, genuine smile that nearly took his breath away.

"Is everyone like you in your world?"

Harry thought back on his friends, his loved ones, everyone around him. Truthfully, no one was like him. He was Harry Potter, the orphan who rose up and defeated a Dark Wizard when he was just Ella's age. He had gone through hardships no one could even begin to imagine, and he had the scars, both physical and emotional, to prove it.

"Yes," he heard himself say. Ella nodded, a smile still on her face, and went back inside.

**A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks so much for reading my stories. I'd really appreciate it if you took a few moments to review this chapter, just so I can get an idea of how many people are actually reading this particular story. Thank you, I appreciate it!**


	7. Chapter 7

Sometimes, while in class, Harry forgot that time had changed at all. As he sat and practiced spells and made potions that he had already learned, it was like the time period just disappeared. There were no formalities, no ways of dressing differently, no social restraints. It was simply magic. It wasn't difficult, it was practical. He would trace his wand through the air like he always did, watching the effects blossom before his eyes, and when he did this, he immediately felt relieved, like he was at home again.

The only thing that was different was the fact that certain spells hadn't been invented circa 1616. And so, one day, during a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Harry found himself in a rather terrifying situation that could have impacted his future in an unknown, but possibly dark way.

"I'd like you all to separate into pairs." The professor of the course was a tall, skinny man, with droopy eyes and a yellow-ish beard waved his hands feebly, trying to get the attention of the class. "At this point, I realize that some of you might find Defensive spells rather useless. Seeing as the great dark wizard, Godelot fell so many years ago and none have risen to take his place." His voice wavered as he cleared his throat. "That does not mean that this class will not have schoolwork." A few of the students laughed quietly and began to divide into pairs amongst themselves.

Richard and Harry stood a good 3 meters apart, wands at the ready. Richard wore a stupid, lopsided grin as he prepared to duel. Harry, remembering the outcomes of so many duels he had fought, did not smile.

"Class, do I have to tell you when to begin? Defensive spells wait for no one!"

They began to shoot spells back and forth. Simple spells. _Expelliarmus. Petrificus Totalus. Locomotor Wibbly. _And then, suddenly, Richard took him off guard. He shot a spell at him, something Harry hadn't quite seen before. It was silvery, but thick, like a rope. The spell shot out at Harry, blossoming at its end, it's tendrils reaching for him. Harry quickly blocked the spell and countered it, shouting without thinking:

"Levicorpus!" He flicked his wand somewhat carelessly. Richard flew into the air, ankle first. Richard blinked rapidly and waved his arms wildly, his face turning red. The other people in the classroom turned to stop and stare. Richard's tunic looked as if it was slipping down his body, weighed down by the heavy collar made of rubies.

"Good gods," Harry heard his instructor mutter. "Potter…let him down!"

Harry waved his wand and Richard crumpled to the floor in a heap. He let out a feeble groan of pain. Harry looked up to see the rest of the class staring at him. A few of the girls whispered to one another, behind their cupped hands, their skirts rustling as they passed along whispers and gossip. The boys of the class regarded Harry carefully, as if he was a snake about to bite.

"What did you do?" The instructor stepped closer to Harry. His eyes were wide. "What spell was that, Potter?"

"I don't know," Harry quickly lied. Sweat gathered across his brow. In the corner of the room, he could see Ella, staring at him like all the rest. But the expression on her face was not one of admiration or fear. It was nerves, just like him.

"You shouted something, Potter. What was that? Did you invent that spell?"

Harry looked around him, trying to find a way out of answering. Of course, he hadn't invented the spell. Severus Snape had, years before Harry was born. But now, Harry had used the spell in 1616. In front of eyes who had not yet seen it before, eyes that would never see or know the Half-Blood Prince. His nerves imploded within him. This could change History, he knew that. Without the title of the Half-Blood Prince, who would Snape become? What would have happened to Harry, the sixth year in Potions class?

"I didn't say anything," Harry muttered.

"Yes you did," a voice piped up. Holden was standing close to Harry, and he glared at him and turned to the Professor. "Potter said something like levi-"

"Obliviate!" It wasn't Harry who spoke, but this time, a girl. Harry watched as the people around him suddenly grew dreamy-looking, as if someone had wiped all worry from their brows. A girl closest to him let her mouth droop open, her tongue falling out. It looked ridiculous, in her finery. "They shouldn't remember a thing now."

Ella held her wand aloft. She strolled into the center of the room and looked at all the people around her. She checked their expressions, looking into the half-lidded eyes.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked. He had never seen someone perform a Memory charm on a selective group of people in just one room. Ella came close to Holden and glared at him, and then closed his ajar mouth.

"I should ask you the same thing," she pointed out. "Remember, we don't have all the knowledge you do. Be careful with which spells you use." Ella began to back out of the classroom, Harry next to her, and just as the bell rang, she waved her wand. The members of the class began to move about, gathering their things and chatting. Holden ran a hand over his jaw and glowered, as if it was suddenly sore. Harry resisted the urge to smile.

"Sorry," he apologized to Ella as they began to walk down the hallway, towards the library. "You're always picking up slack for me."

"I don't mind." She adjusted the necklace she wore, a heavy cross that glittered as it lay in between her collarbones. She held the books more tightly in her arms and bowed her head. If she had stopped in the right light, she might have looked like a portrait that lined the halls during Harry's days at Hogwarts.

"I'll be more careful," he promised, after a heartbeat. "I realize how much danger I'm putting both you and I in."

"Yes, well-" Ella was interrupted as a certain honey-blonde rounded the corner, dressed in crimson satin.

"My love!" Annabelle rushed to Harry, curtseying quickly and bowing her head. She wore a small golden crown upon her head. Ella wrinkled her nose and sidled by, slipping past Annabelle, unnoticed, and heading up another corridor. Harry watched her go, aching to call out to her. "I come bearing good tidings."

"Go on then," Harry replied, in a rather clipped tone.

"Father just sent word. He says your lord father has agreed to all his wishes. If he is orderly and expresses good grace, we shall be married by the end of the month." Annabelle smiled, her eyes glittering. She drew her hair all around her and adjusted the small crown. Harry tried his best not to frown, so he smiled, but he was sure he looked rather stupid, frowning and smiling at the same time.

"Are you sure of this?" He asked, hopeful she was mistaken.

From a small pouch she wore at her wrist, she pulled a letter, folded with a broken red seal. Harry grabbed it and examined the seal. A stag, surrounded by a half-circle of stars.

"That's your father's letter," Annabelle said. "My father asked me to pass it along, if it pleases you."

It didn't please Harry, not at all. While he was sure that eventually, Henry would marry Annabelle and go on to breed Harry's ancestors, he wasn't about to marry her. He would not let that happen.

"It does." He raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. Annabelle gave him a coy smile, her eyes twinkling most mysteriously. "I am glad for this news. I must go thank the gods, they have been most generous to our families alike."

"Let me go with you my love," Annabelle begged. "Oh Henry, I must visit the sacred chapel."

"Later," Harry said. "Leave me, for the time being. I have no doubt the gods will be pleased to hear our prayers, but let us pray separately. Our prayers will be no greater if we say them together."

"Yes," Annabelle said, curtseying and bowing her head once more. "Yes, you're correct." Harry bowed his head and hurried around the corner, anxiously glancing at the other students as he sprinted out towards the stairwells that lead down to the Great Hall.

"Annabelle!" A voice shouted. Holden approached her in the hallway, striding in a most pompous manner. He clamped his ankles together and bowed to her, and she inclined her head. "I just had the pleasure of hearing your news. I hope you do not mind I overheard your conversation."

"Of course not," Annabelle replied, linking her arm with his. "It is the most wonderful news. Henry seemed ever so pleased."

"I'm sure," Holden said in a nasty voice as he began to escort her back to the Gryffindor tower. "Be sure now, Annabelle, but has M'Lord Potter been acting differently lately?"

"Differently?"

"More distant? Is his personality different than what you are accustomed to?"

Annabelle bit down on her lip, clearly thinking. "God forgive me, but yes. At least, at times. My darling Henry has always been so eager to please, so loving and attentive. But lately, I do believe he has grown colder. Perhaps he just hasn't been feeling well. He was so overjoyed at the news of our marriage bond."

"Annabelle, I do not mean to offend you. You are a beautiful woman, who deserves the best bond that marriage can bring you, but I fear I have grown wary of Potter as of late." He lowered his voice. "He seems so different than the Henry you and I both know."

"I suppose you're right," Annabelle said in a rather troubled voice as they began to climb the steep stairs that lead to the tower.

"Tell me, has Potter visited your bed lately, M'lady?"

Annabelle blushed fiercely. "Holden!"

"Forgive me. I am only curious."

Annabelle studied him for a moment. "Of course. Forgive my outburst." She lowered her voice, though no one was around. "Not in weeks. Not since that terrible fall he had."

"As I thought." Holden lowered his head in a somber manner. He began to weep. "Oh Annabelle, I am so sorry. I beg your pardon."

"Oh gods, what is it?" She grasped Holden's shoulders. "Lord Greenwood, pull yourself together."

"I am sorry, Annabelle, truly." He sunk onto a bench outside the Gryffindor common room, Annabelle beside him. She pulled her skirts tightly around him and continued to pat him on the arm, though she looked rather scandalized and disgusted. "I am afraid I have some news that might bring shame upon our great houses, and I feel I must divulge it."

Annabelle's eyes narrowed, and her expression hardened, suddenly giving her the appearance of a shrewd eagle. "Pray, do tell."

"I have reason to believe that Potter and my betrothed may be having a love affair, Annabelle. They do spend quite a lot of time together, you must admit."

"I…Henry wouldn't." Annabelle's face turned increasingly redder.

"The Henry you know," Holden pointed out. "There's something different about him now, I can't quite put my finger on it. But I promise you, M'Lady, if he does anything to shame you, then I will make him pay for it. I swear upon my house."

"Do you have proof?"

"No physical proof yet. I will be watching out for it, and I suggest you do the same. If I discover anything of this matter, I will immediately inform M'lady." Holden inclined his head, smirking widely as he did so.

"That's kind of you," Annabelle said icily, standing up. "But what about your betrothed? If this is true, she has some part in this shameful manner as well."

"Don't worry," Holden replied, his square jaw growing tense as he clenched it. His hands curled into fists, the knuckles going white. "I will deal with her as I always do."

**A/N: Please remember to review! It really helps me out to know who's reading/what I can do to improve! If you have any questions or comments, don't be afraid to message me.**


	8. Chapter 8

As time drew on, lagging on and on, Harry found himself finding solace in a place he never quite expected—The Hogwarts Library. He liked to go to the second floor, climbing up the spiral staircase, and then walk back towards the windows, before taking a sharp right into an abandoned corner. The corner was small, comfortable, with a view of the grounds, where Hagrid's hut should have been. Harry liked to sit in the pink armchair and curl up a little, thinking of the life that was awaiting him when he would return to the future.

Was time moving on there, too? Had anyone noticed his absence? He, in a way, hoped they hadn't. He hoped that time had simply stopped moving there. If he had been missing, he knew Hermione would be distraught. Not an arrogant thought, he simply knew her hysteria levels better than any one's.

Sometimes he thought of Ginny. Would she be panicked that he was missing? Would she even know? She was in Australia now, playing Quidditch with her league. Perhaps she was too busy to even come back to London.

Above all, Harry wondered what would happen when he returned with Ella. He felt guilty. He wished her the best, he wished her to come back with him, but it was far more complicated than he had thought. When he had asked her to come back, he was simply thinking of the opportunities she could have. He had assumed it would be simple, she would come back and he would get her a job, it would be simple with her talent. And yet, she was a seventeen year old girl, with no money and no relatives. She could live with him, but he squirmed at this, thinking of how he could try to explain to Ginny that Ella was going to live with him.

One night, around nine, he sat in this spot, the candelabra overhead burning down low. He was thinking of Ginny. He couldn't even tell if he missed her now. Harry hung his head and ran a hand over his hair. No, he didn't miss her. She wasn't part of his life anymore, or, rather, Henry's. She had been part of his past, and Harry, though he was stuck in the middle ages, was excited to move onto his future.

"Harry?" Ella softly spoke his name as she crept around the corner. Her eyes were wide as she caught sight of him, his head hanging despondently, his hands resting on the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"You're not interrupting," Harry said, standing. "I was just tired." He tried to smile, but Ella didn't seem to buy it.

"I just came to tell you that while I was doing my research, I found something interesting." Ella touched the necklace around her neck, the customary cross. "It…it appeared to me, I think it was meant for you."

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say," Harry replied.

Ella moved forward with silent footsteps, the train of her teal velvet dress dragging behind her. She held a thick, red leather bound book in her hands. She flipped it open to the middle and scanned her finger down the page. She tapped it, and presented it to Harry, shoving it into his hands with excited force.

"I've never seen this book before. It was in the section I usually visit, to do my research, but it was just lying on a chair where I usually sit. There was gold dust all over it, I think there's still some left, see?"

Harry held the book up in the light, and some dust, indeed, still remained. It twinkled back at him, innocently, but Harry felt his heart leap.

"That's it," he whispered. "That's what brought me here."

"The book?"

"The dust." Ella frowned. "There was a bowl of dust in the ministry. I…I just held some of it, and then I was here…I didn't remember until now."

"Just hold off for a minute," Ella requested. She pointed to the page, her hands trembling. "Tell me. Is this you?"

Harry frowned, and then looked at the page. In front of his eyes, his own family tree bloomed. His name was inscribed at the bottom, under Lily and James, in gold leaf print, and Harry felt his stomach lurch.

"I…" Harry felt his voice trail off, and he attempted to speak with more conviction. "Yeah. Yes. That's me."

Ella turned away, wringing her hands, and then turned back. She made a soft choking noise, but Harry was too stunned to respond.

"I don't know how this got here," she said. "But I recognized your family tree. You see, Henry's at the top of it."

Harry glanced up towards the top of the page. True to her word, Henry's name was at the top of the page. And next to his name was Annabelle's. The names were linked together, and their bond produced six other names: Mary, Rose, James, Byron, Caroline, and Neil. His ancestors, his own blood and flesh. Annabelle was the reason he existed today, and the realization of it made Harry want to vomit.

"Your ancestors come from Henry and Annabelle's bond," Ella pointed out quietly.

"I come from them," Harry repeated hoarsely. "We need to get Henry back, we need to get him back now."

"But how?" Ella asked. "I'm trying my hardest to find out what's going on, I am, but I don't see how I can get him back." She paused for a split second, and then turned away, looking out the window. Her voice grew heavy and tired and the light above them burned out, the flame flickering away as quietly as a whisper. "Perhaps you should stay."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, turning to glance at her back, which was tall and rigid. "Stay? And what, marry the woman who basically begins my lineage? That's so fucked up, on so many levels…"

"I don't know," Ella said shrilly, turning around to face him, and he could just see her eyes in the dark, wide and alarmed, glowing eerily before him. "I mean…you'll still exist right? If you marry her, you'll have children, and they'll go on to produce you, at least someday."

"Oh god," Harry moaned, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He felt a sudden coolness upon his cheek. Ella was in front of him, and she placed a soft hand to his cheek and his forehead.

"You need to exist," she whispered to him. "You can't take the risk. You can't gamble away the possibility you exist someday."

"But we don't even know this will work," Harry replied, opening his eyes, and Ella took a step back, folding her hands daintily. Harry filled the step she had occupied, and looked down at her, trying to gain her eye contact. "What if it messes it up? Who knows I'll exist if I stay? I'm not Henry. History could change. I…I need to try to get home. Even with the risks."

"I don't want to risk your life," Ella said so quietly, so gently that Harry could hardly hear her. She raised her chin to face him, her eyes glowing defiantly. "But it's your choice. It's your life, not mine. It's your future, not mine."


	9. Chapter 9

Harry walked back to the Gryffindor tower that evening, the book clutched tightly in his hands, his stomach churning. Ella had told him to stay, to marry Annabelle, who according to the tree in the book, was his great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother, or something like that. He supposed she had a point, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel sick about it all. Where was Henry, anyhow? Was he trapped in Harry's body, trying desperately to understand the world around him?

These questions plagued Harry's mind as he dragged his feet up the stairs and into the Gryffindor tower. Richard passed him and greeted him cheerily, but Harry merely nodded and kept his head down. He was exhausted and confused and in no mood to talk to anyone at the moment. Unfortunately, Annabelle had a different idea in mind.

She was in Harry's room when he returned. The room was empty, except for her. She had lit the candles in the room, and sat upon his bed. Harry stopped in the doorway. Annabelle's dress was in a crumpled heap upon the floor, and next to it, the headdress she had been wearing earlier in the day, a heavy fabric stretched across a headband, embroidered with rubies and gold thread.

"Henry?" She called out, and Harry winced as he squinted in the direction of his bed. Annabelle was sitting straight up, her golden hair spilling out over her shoulders, her face stretched out in a seductive smile as she bit down on the corner of her lip. The sheets were pulled up around her chest, thank god, but Harry could see her shoulders were bare, and judging by the state of the dress on the floor, he assumed she was naked underneath the covers.

"Oh, god," Harry whispered, feeling sick, and he quickly closed his eyes. "Annabelle, what are you doing?" He held up a hand, as if attempting to block out the memory of walking in on her.

"What do you think I am doing, m'lord? Is it not apparent?"

"I think you should really get dressed," Harry muttered, trying to keep his cool.

Annabelle let out an affronted huff. "Henry, my love, I beg of you to tell me what bothers you. I feel that as of late, you wish to have nothing to do with me. It is not as if I have never visited your bedchamber before, in fact-"

"Really, Annabelle," Harry interrupted. He sighed. This had gone too far. Everything had gone on for far too long, and he was sick of it. He knew what he had to do know, his future be damned. "Put on your dress, please. There's something I have to tell you."

Annabelle let out a small sniffle, and Harry heard her scuffling around, the dress rustling as she pulled it from the floor. He couldn't help but feel quite sorry for her; he had been rather abrupt lately.

"Are you decent?"

"I am a lady, m'lord. I do not understand such a concept of being indecent."

"I apologize. Let me clarify, are you covered?"

"Yes, m'lord." Harry opened his eyes to see Annabelle before him, her head bowed. Her eyes were puffy and red, and Harry could see tears streaking down her face. He sighed again. "Annabelle, sit down. We need to talk."

She daintily took a seat on the edge of his mattress, wiping her eyes with the corner of her long sleeves. Harry sat beside her, being sure to keep a gentlemanly distance. He placed the book down between them, a buffer of sorts.

"I want to apologize to you. I understand that lately, I have not been myself."

"You haven't," she echoed. "Is it something I have done, m'lord? I wish to rectify-"

"No, it's not you," Harry interrupted. "And please, don't call me a lord. I don't…I'm not…" He shook his head. Annabelle stared at him, her reddened eyes reflecting her confusion. "Annabelle, I'm not who you think I am."

"Henry Potter. My betrothed," she said, smiling a little. "Lord of-"

"No," Harry interrupted. "I mean, yes, that's who I'm supposed to be. But I'm not. And I know you can tell, I've been different lately. As you said. And that's because I'm not Henry."

"Don't say such things," Annabelle said quickly. "Henry, you should not act upon feelings of inadequacy-"

"That's not it," Harry interrupted quickly. "No, Annabelle, think about it. You've noticed things about me lately that don't add up. Things that don't quite make sense. Things Henry wouldn't say, things he wouldn't do. And that's because I'm not Henry."

Annabelle was quiet, and Harry was unsure if she was fighting the urge to laugh or cry. When she spoke, her voice quavered slightly.

"Then, pray tell, who do you claim to be?" Her voice was dubious, extremely so. She thought he was a nutter, Harry could tell.

"My name is Harry," he told her. "And I'm…well, I'm a relative of Henry's. Of yours. I'm a Potter."

"Henry," she whispered, and began to cry. "Don't say such things. You've gone mad."

"No, no. Think about it. A few weeks ago, I had a fall. I couldn't remember who I was, or anything about myself. About Henry. Because I'm not him, I'm Harry. I'm someone else, and I'm…well, I'm from the future. I'm your ancestor."

Annabelle sobbed harder, placing her hands to her face to cover her tears from him. Harry gently touched her shoulder, and she flinched away. He picked up the book.

"Annabelle, please. Will you just look at this?"

She shook her head.

"Annabelle, please." His voice was increasingly desperate, trying to please, and she finally snatched it away from him.

"What is it? A prop for this joke you are trying to foist upon me? Do not toy with my emotions, Henry, I do not find this amusing." Harry didn't reply, he simply thumbed through the book and smoothed open the page to his family tree. Thankfully, he saw, the text had not changed, his name was still inked at the bottom. Annabelle squinted at the top of the page, and then blanched.

"Why…that's my name. Right there." She tapped the name with her finger. "It says…how did you…?"

"I didn't do it," Harry replied immediately. "This book…it appeared to me. I think it was brought here for a reason. Perhaps to prove my lineage to you. I'm not sure of its purpose."

"But then…" Annabelle looked to the bottom of the page. She ran a hand over Harry's name. "But you claim to be him? Harry Potter?" She let out a small gasp. "My great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson? What trickery is this?"

"It's not trickery, Annabelle. Please believe me. Look through the pages. I did. It explains the Potter history. There's a chapter on me," he pleaded. "Look to the end, if you wish. It is an biography."

Annabelle cautiously turned to the end. Harry could see the chapters about himself, about his life with the Dursleys. She turned the pages and Harry winced when he saw a picture of himself, age eleven, captured outside Ollivanders, Hagrid waving in the background. She let out an audible gasp.

"But…it's uncanny…" She stood up abruptly, dropped the book. "You are not lying," she whispered, staring down at Harry.

"No," he confirmed. "I'm not." She swooned, her knees buckling, and Harry's arms shot out to catch her. She collapsed, and Harry carefully transferred her to Richard's bed. She placed a hand upon her brow and whimpered.

"The behavior," she whispered. "The language. My god, your refusal to bed me. It all makes sense now, I suppose. And Ella…my god, Ella!"

"Ella?" Harry asked, confused. He frowned. "What about Ella?"

Annabelle turned her gaze upon him, pale as a sheet. "Holden approached me. Gods, he believes that you and Ella…that the two of you…I cannot even fathom…"

Harry knew, by her awkward pauses, what she was suggesting. What Holden had suggested. "He thinks we're having an affair."

Annabelle paused. "Yes. Henry…Harry, then. M'lord, I am sorry. I'm afraid I was hurt by the suggestion, and I was frightened. I agreed with him, I told him that I would look out for signs that the two of you were…together. This morning, I'm afraid I told him a lie…I was so hurt, you must understand…"

"What did you tell him, Annabelle?"

She lowered her gaze. "I told him I witnessed you and Ella embracing."

Harry almost laughed. "Well, I don't think he's going to draw conclusions from a hug. I mean, that could mean anything, really."

"I'm afraid you don't know Holden. He has quite a temper." She lowered her voice, as if she were afraid Harry could hear what she was about to say next. "I hear he expresses his anger through his fists. And Ella…she bears the brunt of it."

"Are you telling me that he beats her?" Harry had never quite heard the tone of his voice grow so dangerously angry. Annabelle nodded and covered her mouth with her hand.

"I need to find her," Harry said quickly. "This is my fault."

Without another word to Annabelle, he sprinted from the room. All that had seemed important to him, everything that had mattered an hour ago wasn't even close to being important anymore. Henry who? The thought of Ella consumed him, beautiful and headstrong Ella. He feared for her.

Harry found himself running into the common room, shouting for Holden, and alarming some of the younger students who sat around the fireplace, flourishing their quills with extreme relish. Richard, alarmed at Harry's demeanor, told him that Holden was not in the tower, he had not been for some time.

"He went to the Ravenclaw tower, Henry. He was visiting his lady." Harry shoved Richard aside and dashed through the group of students coming through the portrait hole. His feet had never quite moved so fast as he dashed through the hallways, causing shouts of alarm as he drew his wand and held it aloft. He had been to the Ravenclaw tower, and he steeled himself as he approached it, thinking of the question he would be asked when he got to the door. He had to answer it correctly, there was no time—

But it seemed he wouldn't have to answer a question this time. He heard a small cry as he approached the corridor, and when he rounded the corner, he saw what he had feared. Ella was against a wall, her back shoved against a corner. Her arms were up, her elbows jutted out as she attempted to cover her face. Holden stood before her, a hand raised. His palm was flattened, and Harry realized he was slapping her, and judging by the bit of her face he could see, he had been doing that for some time. Her face was raised and bruised. Harry's wand fell from his hand with a clatter, and Holden turned to see who dared approach.

"Potter-" he spat. "Perfect timing." Without thinking it through, without pausing even, Harry leapt at Holden. His fists flew out, his vision red, and he saw Holden's blood spatter across his tunic as Harry punched him once, twice, a third time. Ella screamed loudly, her tone terrified, but Harry couldn't—wouldn't—stop. He felt the bones in Holden's nose crunch as he fell to the floor, and Harry kneeled on his chest, closed his hands around Holden's throat—

"Harry, Harry," Ella sobbed, grabbing his shoulder. "Stop it. You're killing him." Harry stopped at her touch. Her small hands, delicately long fingers, clutched at his tunic. Harry rose to his feet, breathing hard, and looked down at Holden, surprised. He was unconscious, his face unrecognizably bruised and bloody. Ella sobbed harder.

"I'm sorry," Harry said immediately. He turned to her, alarmed at her loss of cool. He had never seen her loose her composure before—it was almost scarier than the image of Holden's hand raised so threateningly. He reached out towards her, hesitantly, and she slid into his arms, her face tucked into his neck. Harry could feel her tears soaking into his skin, and he stroked her hair, holding her tightly but gently against him.

"He surprised me," she murmured. "As I came back, he came from no where…he's never hit me like this before…I've never had this happen…"

"It will never happen again," Harry assured her. "Holden will never touch you again. I promise."


	10. Chapter 10

It turned out that Ella didn't wish to visit the hospital wing. Her face was bruised, awfully so, her eyes swelled up so badly that she appeared to be squinting all the time. Harry tried to convince her to visit the hospital wing and perhaps attempt to drink a potion, to help the swelling at least, but Ella refused.

"They won't help," she protested. "It's better if I just go down to the kitchens and procure some meat, perhaps ice chips." Harry held her arm as they began to descend down the stairs, leaving Holden lying on the floor without another look back.

"I am so sorry," Harry said quietly as they reached the grand staircase. The castle was quiet now—most everyone had gone to bed. The torches were burning down slowly, and moonlight crept in through the crack of the main doors. Ella shook her head.

"As if this is your fault? I protest it is merely Holden's cruel soul that would inspire such an act."

"It is my fault," Harry insisted, still. "Indirectly, even. It's a long story, one which you don't need to know right now."

"Spare me," Ella said with such determination that Harry was surprised. She grit her teeth. "I may be bruised but that doesn't mean I'm weak."

"I should have realized," Harry said. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want to upset you."

"No, it is my apology that should be put forth. I reacted impulsively. After all, you just…saved me."

Harry was quiet. He didn't adknowledge her words. Truthfully, if Ella had her wand upon her person, which he was sure she didn't, she wouldn't have needed saving at all. In fact, Holden would have needed saving, in that situation. Ella gripped on to his arm a little tighter, and Harry glanced at her. Her profile was strong, it was true. Despite the swelling, Ella held her head high and her neck was long and elegant. She glanced at Harry and nodded briefly, giving him permission to let his gaze linger on her injuries a little longer.

"Has he ever done this to you before?" Harry asked quietly. "Holden?"

Ella froze, her hand slipping from his arm the smallest bit, before she steeled herself. Harry could feel her fingernails digging slightly into his arm, as if she were trying to hold on for dear life.

"Just once," she admitted. "How do you know?"

"Something you said when I…" he trailed off, not wanting to remind her of how he had beat Holden. He wondered if she were scared of him at all. Harry looked down at his knuckles, which were blue and bruised. On his left hand, the skin was torn, and he was bleeding a bit. "You said 'before' and I guess I just…I put it together. There had been comments I heard before, rumors in a sense. I never really thought of it before."

"He hit me a few months ago," Ella said quietly as they descended into the dungeons, passing the corridor where the Slytherin common room was located. "On his birthday. He had a ball, in the Gryffindor tower. I danced with another boy, just a Ravenclaw, the year before me. His family is friendly with mine, I didn't expect…"

"Of course you didn't. No one should expect that." Harry thought of his cousin Dudley, unexpectedly. The memories of the Smeltings stick on the back of his knees still stung. "And do your parents know?"

"Of course not," Ella replied. "No one does, at least, not by my words. Your world may be different, Harry, but here, no one gives mind to this type of thing. It's common, more likely than not, and I'd rather not make a huge fuss over it. Besides, I won't have to put up with it soon, will I?" She glanced hopefully at him, and Harry opened his mouth, but before he could speak, they heard a cough close by.

"Prefects," Ella hissed. "Quickly now." She stepped into the next hall, breaking free of his arm, and stood in front of the portrait that Harry recognized as the one that lead to the kitchens. Ella reached out and tickled the painted fruit, it giggled just as Harry remembered, and then turned into a handle. Ella seized it, pulled, and dragged Harry along with her.

"Miss and Sir," a voice immediately squeaked, and Harry saw a few house elves working on dishes glanced up immediately at the pair of them. The boldest of the elves approached them quickly. "It is late. What do you require at this time?" The elf then saw Ella's face in the light, and it's voice faltered. "Oh my. Some ice chips, Miss?"

"If you would be so kind," Ella replied quietly. The elf scampered away, and the others focused on work with the kind of determination that was hardly believable. Harry thought fleetingly of Hermione and wondered what the treatment of elves was like at this time. Probably fit worthy. The elf returned in a matter of seconds with a block of ice wrapped in a white cloth. "Thank you."

"Please Miss, sit down for a spell. Summon us if there is anything you or the Sir needs." The elf glanced at Harry suspiciously, and then backed away. The other elves were quietly, but Harry knew they were listening all the same. He and Ella took a seat on a small sofa near the entrance.

"Here," Harry said quietly, reaching for the ice.

"I can do it," Ella said quickly, holding it out of his reach.

"I know you can," Harry said gently. Something in Ella's eyes softened, and she handed him the ice. Harry paused, and then slowly lifted the ice to the left half of Ella's face. She winced from the cold, but then sighed in relief. "I'm sorry."

"Please stop apologizing. It only makes it worse." Ella licked her lips. "What were you going to tell me?"

Harry winced. "To make it short, for now at least, Annabelle knows. She knows about me, and Henry. She knows I'm not from this time. But I'm afraid she said something to Holden that made him react in this way."

"I do not like Annabelle but this is not her fault, nor yours," Ella asserted with confidence. "Harry, does this often happen in your time? Things of this nature?"

"I can't say they don't," Harry told her as gently as he could. "But then again, the punishment for doing something of this nature is severe. And women, they have much more room to protest, too fight. I wish that were the same here."

Ella nodded. Harry moved the ice over to her other eye. Ella reached up and closed her hand around Harry's forearm. Harry froze, and the ice in his hand dribbled a bit of water down Ella's neck. Her touch was cool, but Harry felt as if his arm was on fire.

"You make me feel safe," Ella whispered. "And you make me feel strong. And powerful. More than I've ever felt in my life, Harry. With you, I can actually say what I want and I just…I feel like my potential can be achieved."

"You don't need me for that, Ella. You're determined and strong and exceedingly intelligent all on your own."

"But I want you," she admitted, so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear her. Harry scooted closer to her now, so close that their knees touched. Ella smoothed out her dress over her knees and then turned her chin up towards him.

"I want to kiss you," Harry whispered.

Ella shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. The ice chip now lay by Harry's side, soaking into the couch cushion.

"No man has ever kissed me," she whispered back. Harry watched as she raised a hand and placed it on his cheek. He nodded into her touch, memorizing the texture of the skin on her hands, surprisingly soft, though she had a blister on one finger from holding a quill too long. Harry thought that if he looked at her hand, really looked at it, it might be splattered with ink.

Harry hesitated, reached out, and she nodded. He ran a hand across her brow, down her cheek, and traced her jaw. Ella closed her eyes. Harry reached up and pulled the netting from her hair. Her beautiful hair fell from its place upon her head, streaming down her shoulders and bouncing as it curled. Harry brushed back a few loose hairs from her face and he leaned in towards her. He could hear her heart beating faster, heard her breathing quicken. He felt as if his own body was pulsing to the rhythm of his heart and it picked up, beating more quickly as his lips grew closer to hers, and then—

"Sir? Miss?" The elf had returned. Harry and Ella sprung apart. "There are prefects at the door, they say they must see you."

"Who is it?" Ella demanded, standing quickly. Her skirts swung around her legs.

"Holden Greenfield," the elf replied. "If it is a problem, Miss, we can send him away." Ella turned to look at Harry, her face small but resolute.

"Harry, do you have your wand?"

Harry nodded and plucked it from his side; it had a small blood smear on the handle, probably Holden's blood, and he wiped it away before handing it to her. Ella reached out a hand to him. Harry took her hand in his and they squeezed at the same time, trying to reassure one another. They approached the door together, and without Ella seeing, Harry squeezed his other hand into a fist, not only preparing to, but also longing to throw said fist into Holden's face yet another time. Ella gulped before she swung open the portrait door.

"You are both going to be punished for this." Holden was standing before them, his face still dripping blood. His tunic was ripped at the shoulder. "Starting with you, weak-minded wench." He lurched towards Ella.

"I am not weak minded," Ella cried. She raised Harry's wand and brought it down quickly. There was a bang that sounded through the hallway, and Holden suddenly backed away, his face going blank.

"What did you do?" Harry asked.

"Extra powerful memory charm," Ella whispered. "It should take a few minutes to work, but if we leave now, he'll have no idea that he even saw us today or any previous hour."

"Are you sure you don't want me to punch him again?" Harry asked, eyeing him.

Ella shook her head. "If I can't, no one should be able to." Harry lead her away from Holden, his hand still gripping hers. She fell into step easily beside him, and unless Harry was mistaken, he saw the ghost of pride in her eyes. But more apparent than anything was the courage in her steps, the courage that Harry had seen so often in a Gryffindor. They didn't speak as they reached the Ravenclaw tower, but Ella squeezed Harry's hand once more and held out his wand to him. He accepted it and bowed to her. Ella smiled, a genuine smile, and it was almost as if in that moment, the bruises disappeared from her face.

"Kind and gentle sir," she murmured. "I will always gather strength from your presence." And then, quick as a hummingbird, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against Harry's cheek. Her lips were smoother than her skin, even, impossibly so. Harry felt himself blush. Ella, not embarrassed, swept inside the common room.

Harry sighed and began the walk back to the Gryffindor tower. No one could say his day hadn't been interesting. He climbed the stairs, one by one, his body limp with exhaustion, and gave the password to the Pink Lady, who frowned at his demeanor. Harry crossed into the common room, ready to collapse into a deep sleep when—

"Son." Harry paused in the foyer and then looked around. A tall, austere man with a thick black beard and mustache stood by the fireplace. He wore a thick black tunic and leather soled shoes that looked more expensive than anything Harry wore at home. The man frowned at Harry's appearance. The man held out a hand to Harry, and Harry saw that he wore a thick gold ring with a ruby set in the middle. Harry paused, and then leaned down and kissed the ring.

"Father," Harry responded, the words strange as they rolled off his tongue. "Pray, what constitutes this visit?"

"No doubt, Annabelle informed you of the date for the wedding faire," the older Potter responded. "But her Lord father and myself have decided that such a date is too far away. There is much to do at the end of this month, the royal family of Spain has requested my appearance in their court." Harry stared at him, stunned into a stupid silence. The older Potter raised his eyebrows. "Don't look so stupid, boy. The date of your wedding is by the end of next week."


	11. Chapter 11

"The end of next week?" Harry repeated, feeling as if he had just been slapped across the face. "As in…?" He drifted off before sitting down heavily in one of the cushy red chairs by the simmering fire.

"Just a few moons, boy," the elder Potter told him. Harry didn't look up.

"You couldn't have written an owl?" Harry muttered.

"As you know full well, the wedding faire is to take place outside of Hogsmeade. Preparations must be made, people must be met. Your lady mother will be joining me in two days time."

"Well," Harry said, pretending to yawn, and then forced a smile onto his face. "I had better get sleep, then, if I am to get married this week." The elder Potter nodded, stonily, and moved aside to let Harry climb the stairwell. But just as Harry had reached the second step, he spoke. "Oh, and Henry?"

Harry paused.

"Do not act in such a manner to make this union illegitimate in any form."

"How do you mean?"

"The House of Greenwood is a powerful one, boy," the elder Potter said, pulling a pair of thick leather gloves from his breast pocket. He pulled them on and wiggled his fingers. "It might be best to let Holden Greenwood ravish his own bride, rather than picking up his slack, don't you think?"

"I'm not…Ella isn't-"

"Have some respect," the elder Potter spat as he stopped by the portrait hole. "She is a lady, and to be addressed by that title. Every day, you grow more insolent and defy orders that benefit your future. You will wed Annabelle, you will leave Ella Harper alone."

The portrait hole closed with a bang behind him. Harry ran up the stairs, to his room, and shut the door behind him, his heart racing. Seven days. One week. That was the only time Harry had to seal his future, and possibly, his own existence. Harry pulled Henry's wand from his tunic and whispered into the darkness.

"Lumos." The tip of the wand ignited, throwing light into the deepest shadows of the room. The book on the Potter Genology was where Annabelle had been reading it, cast carelessly at the end of Henry's bed. Harry snatched it up and turned quickly to the family tree he had raked his eyes over all day.

Annabelle+Henry. Top of the tree. And at the bottom was Harry. Nothing had changed on the tree, but Harry wasn't sure if he had expected it to. Perhaps, he thought, by telling Annabelle, she would change her mind. Maybe he figured she would become a woman of the Gods, or something along those lines.

Harry flipped to the end of the book. The last few chapters were dedicated to him. His eyes moved over the pages. He could see his mother's name, his father's. Voldemort's name. Ron's name, Hermione's. Pictures of Harry at Hogwarts. Winning the Triwizard cup. The book was detailed, so much so that it caused Harry to wince at times, embarrassed by the lack of privacy in his own life. Finally, he reached the end page, squinting to read the last few lines, and—

There weren't any. Harry flipped the page over and then looked back at the end page. The book stopped mid sentence.

_As of late, Harry Potter resides in London. He continues his work as an auror, and as of 2001_

"As of 2001 what?" Harry muttered, flipping through the pages again. As he did so, a cloud of the gold dust erupted in his face. Harry coughed, spitting slightly over the last page. The gold dust settled upon the text, and before his eyes, Harry saw the text change. A sudden blossom of ink settled over the last page, filling in the last second.

_He continues his work as an auror, and as of 2001, Potter married a ministry co-worker, Ella Harper. _Harry blinked rapidly, and then stared down at the page. The text was gone. He turned the book over and shook it in disbelief, as if expecting the letters to fall down into his lap.

Slowly, Harry closed the book and set it upon the nightstand. He rubbed his eyes and glanced out the dormitory window. His classmates remained asleep, despite the harsh light of the moon as it skittered across the room. Seven days. One week. But it would do no good to think of that now. Harry fell into a deep but worrisome sleep.

He awoke to the sounds of pounding on the door. Harry woke with a start, falling off the edge of his bed with a dull thump. The other boys slumbered away, apparently deep asleep. Harry winced and glanced out the window—the morning light was bright enough to make him wish he had a pair of sunglasses. Harry stumbled to the door and pulled it open. Ella stood on the top step, pages of notes grasped in her hands.

"Ella," Harry greeted her shyly, hastening to close the door behind him as he moved into the stairwell. "How did you get in here?"

"Good morning," she replied pleasantly. Her face wasn't nearly as swelled up as it had been the night before. Perhaps it was the royal blue of her dress that set her skin to a whiter, brighter tone. "Disillusionment charm. I waited outside the portrait hole on Monday evening and waited to get the password. Luck would have it that it didn't change."

"Maybe we should go outside?" Harry suggested, glancing back at the dormitory door. "In case-"

"Don't worry about that." Ella humbly adjusted the thick band she wore on the top of her head. It was blue, as per usual, but encrusted with diamonds roughly the size of Harry's thumb. "I…I managed to cast a slumbering spell upon the tower. Excluding you."

"A slumbering spell?" Harry asked. He had never heard of such a thing. With a slight tickle of amusement, he realized that Hermione had probably never heard of such a thing either. He smothered a smile as he imagined Hermione's frustrated but determined face as she realized someone might know more than she did. It was an expression he saw a lot during his sixth year potions class.

"It's nothing," Ella said quickly. "Look, I just thought I'd come to tell you that I found a way for you to get home. It came to me yesterday." She rifled through the thick parchment pages, all scribbled on in impecible handwriting. At the bottom, there was a page with numerous bullet points and hastened underlines. The ink was slightly smudged, as if she had only just written it.

"Did you sleep at all?" Harry asked, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes. Ella shook her head. Harry wanted to wipe the dark circles away. He wished he could. "You really should get some sleep. I don't want you to feel like you need to work this hard."

"But Harry…" Ella's voice faltered as she held out the notes. "I do. Look at this."

Harry took the page of notes from her and began to scan her handwriting. At the top were words in French. Harry spoke no French, but the words were easy enough to guess. _Voyager poussière. _Travelling dust.

"Do you remember seeing this at all?" Ella asked. "Its golden in color. Forgive me, I couldn't find much about it, as much as I wanted, anyway. It seemed almost all the books detailing it were in French."

"You don't speak French?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised. "Is there something you can't do?"

Ella smiled a little, finally used to the teasing tone Harry had begun to adopt around her.

"Latin and English only, I'm afraid," she said gently.

"Latin," Harry echoed. He looked back down at the page and shook his head. "I saw it at the Ministry. And somewhere else…but I can't…I can't remember where."

"Don't worry about it now. I believe, however, this is what brought you hear. Harry, search your heart. In your world, did you feel incomplete? Was there something that always seemed off? Missing, perhaps?"

Harry stared at her. Ella stared back. It was as if she could read his mind now. Harry thought back to his life in London, his life in the future. Ginny, who had grown more distant over the course of their relationship. His job as an auror, which was never quite as fulfilling as he had expected. Ron and Hermione, his dearest friends, who were now married, edging out room for Harry. His heart dropped. It was empty, indeed.

"Yeah," Harry whispered. "I felt like that all the time. Why do you ask?"

"It's part of the power. The dust that brought you here wasn't ordinary, as you know. From what I understand, travelling dust was created by a powerful French Sorceress hundreds and hundreds of years ago. She was once a happy woman, married and with child. But it is said that in one day, she lost both her husband and son, before her had even emerged from the womb. The poor woman was so saddened by her loss, in her desperation, she threw herself into creating a solution for her pain. She wanted to travel to another universe, Harry. She believed that somewhere in the world, there was another universe, a parallel one if you will, where her husband and son were waiting for her."

"This isn't a parallel universe, is it?"

"No." Ella shook her head and sighed. "No, something went wrong with her work. She tried it out, you see. She had a sister who wanted to escape France as well. And her sister…she covered herself in the dust, and all that happened was she was transported to the royal court of France."

"Okay…" Harry furrowed his brow. "So this travelling dust…takes you outside of your comfort zone?"

"I do not know what a comfort zone is," Ella replied. "But I'm going to wager that it means to be uncomfortable. And in this case, it was the exact opposite, Harry. The sister ended up meeting a muggle man, a Lord, and she fell in love. They were married. When she related this to the sorceress, she realized what she had created. The dust was not used to transport people to or from universes, or through time. It was used to bring people to what they need most. Not what they want, but what they need."

Harry cleared his throat. Ella had drawn closer to him, her eyes shining up at him. Harry could see tears in the corners of her eyes, and his chest heaved up and down as he watched her. Ella looked bashfully down at the notes once more.

"What happened to the sorceress?" Harry asked.

"She died," Ella said simply. "She was so immersed in her grief, that she tried the dust herself, thinking it could bring her some peace. Legend has it that it killed her. Her sister claims she was visited by the sorceress in the afterlife. She told her sister that she was living with her husband and son in a life beyond the grave."

Harry shivered suddenly. The tale seemed almost chillingly similar to that of the Deathly Hallows and the resurrection stone.

"This dust, then," Ella said suddenly, breaking his thoughts. "It appears to certain people when they have need of it. It knows not boundaries of time or space. But it has limits, Harry."

"And they are?"

"When you find what you need, you're stuck." Ella cleared her throat and folded up the page. She stared determinedly at the floor. "The dust brings you to what you need. And once you've found it, there's no leaving it, unless…" She trailed off, and Harry knew she expected him to ask the next question. _Unless, Ella? What do I need to do? _He didn't speak.

"I can't go home, then," Harry responded. Ella glanced up, and Harry saw that the tears in her eyes were shining now, and she shook her head back and they disappeared. "I'm finally full. I'm finally…I'm complete here. With you." Ella let out a soft sob under her breath, but a happy one, that ran shivers of happiness up and down Harry's spine. He took her hand in his and kissed it, each of the knuckles.

"Harry," she whispered. Ella raised her hand and placed it upon his cheek. "You have to. You have to go home."

"But how can I?" Harry asked. "The stories, the origins you just told me. If it is true, I can't leave. I'm bound to you, because you were what I needed. I'm just sorry it took me so long to get here, and to realize that."

Ella remained quiet, but Harry could see her face fall the slightest bit. She bit down on the corner of her lip, and then leaned forward to lay her head against his chest. Harry slowly wrapped his arms around her shoulders, feeling the sharp blades of her back rise and fall against the palm of his hands. He smiled as he realized that a piece of hair had escaped the band around her head, a wavy chestnut curl that was so beautifully rich with color, and-

"Wait," Harry said, drawing away. He blinked rapidly. "That's it. I know where else I've seen the dust before."

"Y-you-" Ella began.

"Hold on. Just wait here." Harry dashed into the dormitory, running his hands over his hair. He had seen the dust just recently, he remembered it. It had been trapped in the pages of the book, the book on his family. Harry dropped to the floor and began to search under his bed. The book was not there. It could not be seen. He scratched his head. He had just had it last night. It was on his nightstand, it had to be. Harry perked up and opened the drawer. The book was not there. Feeling slightly panicked now, Harry ran to his trunk and threw it open. All that lay inside were abandoned books and some old clothes that looked as if they had hardly been worn. Harry paused and ran his hands through his hair again.

"Henry?" Someone asked. "What on earth constitutes such racket this early in the day?"

"Sorry," Harry hissed, turning around. Richard was sitting up in bed, yawning. "I can't find…er…my wand. Yeah. I can't find my wand."

"Well it has to be in the room, doesn't it?" Richard stood from his bed, stretching his arms high above his head. He scratched his stomach thoughtfully, lifting the corner of his silk pajamas. "I can help you search."

"Great," Harry murmured distractedly, dropping to glance under his bed once more. Nothing but dust mites. Harry and Richard spent a few moments in uncomfortable silence, Richard standing awkwardly by and pretending to look for Harry's wand, and Harry growing more anxious by the minute, thinking of Ella waiting outside.

Suddenly, Harry paused. The room had grown very quiet.

"Richard?" He turned around. Richard nodded and widened his eyes.

"I think your wand must be in your tunic from yesterday. No one just looses a wand, Henry. You're not some ignorant squib."

"Richard," Harry said slowly. "When did you wake up?"

"I…moments ago. You're acting funny, Henry. What is this jest you play upon me?"

"I'm not-" Harry started. Suddenly, a loud scream came from outside the door. There was a tumultuous pounding of fists on the dormitory door, and the screams continued, growing shriller in pitch. Harry ran to the door, his heart pounding. _Ella. _He yanked open the door, but Ella was not there. Instead, Annabelle was in the doorway, her long hair parted modestly. She quickly grasped her arms around herself, embarrassed by her lack of skirts, Harry assumed, though she wore long silken pants and a silken shirt with a collar higher than most of her dresses provided.

"Annabelle," he said, stopping short. "What is it? What's going on?"

"It's Ella," she relayed, and Harry stumbled forward, gabbing her shoulders. Annabelle shook like a frightened dog, her hair falling over her normally bright eyes. "She was out here, she was looking for you. I heard noises…it was Holden—I suppose he had enough. They took her away, Harry."

Harry shook his head. He looked Annabelle in the eye—or attempted to. She was still staring at a spot in the floor, her eyes wide with terror.

"Who, Annabelle? Who took Ella? What are you talking about?"

She raised her glance to meet Harry's and spoke with a chilling, flat tone. "I don't know."

"And you never will." This time, another voice spoke. Holden emerged from the staircase, a smirk upon his face. "I don't think you need to know the intimate details, Potter. All I can say is, a man's wife is his property, is she not?"

"Where is she?" Harry spat. He wished now that he had allowed Richard to find his wand, so he could curse Holden Greenfield into a million bits.

"That is for me to know and for you…well, I do suppose you'll never know, Potter. You'll never find out."


	12. Chapter 12

Harry saw red. It flashed before his eyes as quick as a spell, before it had disappeared into the corner of his eyes. He felt his throat well with sudden anger, and the back of his hand began to throb. He looked at Holden's face. The bruises he had left there the evening previous were indelibly inked upon Holden's skin; the blues and purples crossing his cheeks like a map. Harry felt his hand relax, and he stretched his fingers.

"I'm going to find her," Harry said to Holden. "And when I do, I will make sure you never lay a hand on her again."

Annabelle whimpered, but both Harry and Holden ignored her.

"Pray to the Gods you make good on your promises, Potter. It would be a sad thing to dishonor your name over a useless wench." Holden stepped down a few steps and let his nasty smile sidle over his face. "Good day, Annabelle."

Harry stood for a moment and watched him retreat, his anger welling up inside him like a boiling kettle. Finally, when Holden had made it down all the stairs, Harry turned around and stormed back into the dormitory in a wild rage.

"Your wand, Henry?" Richard stood, dumbly, in the middle of the room. He offered the wand to Harry, meekly. "Gods, are you alright? You're positively blanched." Harry snatched the wand and then grabbed a thick coat from Henry's trunk. He swung it over his shoulders and buttoned it tightly. He had no idea where he was heading, but the actions seemed to give him purpose, clear his head.

"I need you to do me a favor, Richard," Harry said, grabbing him by the shoulders. "You need to distract Holden today. Anything you can do, keep him busy."

"Perhaps a game of…" Richard began to mumble as he turned away from Harry, shrugging on a robe that he kept folded over the footboard of his bed. Harry bolted out of the room, grabbing Annabelle by the elbow as he went. He whisked her past a smirking Holden and out of the Gryffindor tower.

"Annabelle. What did you see? Did you hear anything?" Harry sat her down on the stone bench outside the common room. "I need you to tell me everything."

Annabelle paled, and pressed her lips together as if she might vomit. Then, she took a deep breath and began to speak. "I was too upset to sleep in the dormitory last evening. I had to walk around and clear my conscience. I ended up spending the night sitting by the lake, but when the sun rose, I came back to the castle. When I entered the tower, I thought I saw you on the stairwell, talking to someone. But then you disappeared. I started up the stairs, and that's when it happened. I heard the portrait hole open, and it sounded like an army had marched in behind me."

"An army?"

Annabelle shook her head. "I don't know. Holden was there, and I heard him call Ella's name. She leaned over the stairwell, I could just see a sliver of her from where I stood. She asked Holden what he was doing, and he just laughed. He laughed, Henry…Harry, I'm sorry. He said he had broken her spell. She had made some mistake, he said, left something behind last evening. I don't know what he was talking about…"

Harry nodded. "It's alright. Keep going."

"He told her she had one more chance. She had to be loyal to him, completely loyal, or he said _they _would straighten her out. She asked what loyalty meant, to him. Holden told her to obey him. That was loyalty, he said. And…oh gods, Ella didn't agree. Ella told Holden she wouldn't conform to such an ideal. She told him she wasn't made to obey. She told him she was strong."

_She is so Strong. _Harry thought of her the evening previous, walking down the stairs in the Great Hall. She had been _beaten, _for godssake, and yet she had held her head high.

"They came then. There were pairs of them. Perhaps three. Maybe more, I couldn't tell. I was about to scream when I saw them, but they pushed me aside. They told me to quiet myself. They took her. They took Ella." Annabelle let out a whimper and grabbed at her hair. She rocked back and forth. "She went with them without fighting. I don't know why she would do that. Why would she do that?"

Harry paused for a moment. "Maybe…to get away from Holden. Perhaps she saw this as her way out."

"You're her way out," Annabelle said simply. "I may not know much in this world, Harry Potter, but I know love when I see it. It's how I expect I look when I'm with my beloved Henry."

"Well…" Harry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry if I was ever short with you, Annabelle. You've been of help, really."

"Perhaps I can be of more help," she offered, standing up. "Before she went, Ella whispered something to me. All she said is: _Tell him I am in the place where the third woman waits out her fate._"

"The third woman…" Harry frowned. "The third woman…a healer. She's at St. Mungos, isn't she?"

"Gods," Annabelle said, covering her mouth with her hand. "I didn't think of it before. Harry, I'm sorry. I know who took her. I know where she is and why. Holden's had her sent to St. Mungos to have her locked up. They're going to neutralize her."

"Neutralize her?"

"They're going to break her spirit," Annabelle whispered. "They did that to my mother, before she died. My mother was depressed, you see. And when she drank a glass of elixir, one too many, they took her to St. Mungos. They took her away from me, and when she came back, she was just a ghost living in the shell that was once my mother."

"Do they…they magically lobotomize her…?"

"These foreign terms mean nothing to me," Annabelle explained. "All I can tell you is that my mother became empty. Her brain could not connect words nor emotions. She lost her feelings, and then gradually, her sight, her sense of smell, and her life."

Harry seized Annabelle and kissed her on the forehead. "My god," he whispered in her ear as Annabelle froze, stunned. "You and Ella…probably all women in this time…you truly are the strongest beings I've ever met."

And then Harry ran. He ran down the stairs and past the portraits on the walls and past the suits of armor and down into the Great Hall and out the front doors and onto the grounds. He ran like his life depended on it. And perhaps it did. In more ways than one.

If he lost Ella, he may never know the key to getting home. If he lost Ella, Harry knew that something inside him would break; the thread that had threatened to snap all his life.

Harry ran down the sloping lawn by the Gameskeeper's hut, crossed behind the Quidditch Pitch, and ran towards Hogsmeade. As soon as he could see the roofs in the distance, glistening like sugared candies in the rapidly rising sun, Harry apparated.

Harry landed shakily. Perhaps it was his nerves that had gotten the better of him, but when Harry spun out of the sky, he fell. He crashed against the cool marble floor, his chin colliding with the solid rock and crunching unpleasantly. His wand skidded out of his hand and slid across the smooth floor. And that was when Harry realized what was wrong. He had apparated to the wrong placed.

"No, no," Harry whispered into the darkness, groping blindly for his wand. St. Mungos was warm, with soft carpeting that almost felt like cushions under your feet. Harry wiped his bleeding chin on his sleeve. And then, a few inches away from his hand, his wand lit suddenly, the tip spinning madly around and around. The light danced on the walls. Harry grabbed his wand and held it aloft, glancing around with wide eyes. He was in the Department of Mysteries.

"Hello?" Harry called, revolving on the spot. "Is anyone there?" His voice echoed throughout the hall, which lit up almost instantly, the lights glowing softly, eerily. Harry recoiled, instantly. He was in the very same spot he had been standing before he had disappeared into 1616. And yet, this was different. Before him was not travelling dust, he had none at his disposal. Not here, not at this time.

On the floor before him was what appeared to be a mirror. But the mirror had no edges or corners. And when Harry reached out to touch the surface, he found that his fingers could not move, as if they were blocked by an invisible wall. And then, astoundingly, the reflection before him moved. It wasn't a mirror at all. Harry stumbled backwards, startled, and pointed his wand defensively in front of him.

"Now, now, Harry. We can't have you cursing your forefathers, can we?" Henry Potter grinned arrogantly and smoothed back his hair, which was admittedly, much more tame than Harry's. "After all, I brought you here for a reason."

"H-Henry?" Harry asked, moving forward apprehensively.

"Obviously. Come now, don't be so nervous, after all, I can help you. I can help you free Ella, and I can help you return home."


	13. Chapter 13

"I…" Harry shook his head and lowered his wand the smallest bit. Henry grinned back at him carelessly, as if he were not surprised to find Harry here. Harry was struck suddenly by the family resemblance. Henry was almost a carbon copy of James, alive and breathing and only a couple centuries older. "How do you know? How are you even here?"

"Let me explain quickly, for time is not on our side. What you see here, I am not a figment of your imagination, and yet I am not quite a solid form either."

"Jesus," Harry breathed. He felt his heart leap into his throat. "Did I…did I kill you? Everything's going to change, the entire future…"

"Of course you didn't kill me, you mewling lout. I'm here, aren't I?"

"But you just said…"

"Right, let me finish. Gods, the manners you lack. I am what I suppose you might call an astral projection of sorts. My physical body, that is, has faded into an out of body experience. I am trapped in between realms."

"Well," Harry said, growing hot under the collar and Henry's placidness. "I'm glad you seem to know all this, because I didn't. And you're getting married by the end of the week. Nope, make that six days now. How did you learn this anyway? Can't you figure out a way to get back into this time?"

"Your ears flush when you're angry," Henry said smugly. "Being flustered does not suit you, I can see why Annabelle has been so off-put by you as of late."

"Off-put? Annabelle wasn't-" Harry paused, and then furrowed his brow. "Hang on. Have you been following me?"

"Well I had to, didn't I? I had to try, anyhow. It was difficult, trying to keep up with you."

"Enough with the fucking riddles!" Harry exploded, moving forward so quickly that he quite forgot about the barrier in between himself and Henry. His nose nearly struck the solidified air, but Henry was intimidated enough by Harry's sudden rage that he took a step backwards. The smile disappeared off his face. "Look, I need to get out of here, I need to help Ella. You said you could help with that."

"I can try, yes. Let me tell you what I know. I've been trapped in between here and Hogwarts. Sometimes, I felt my body move ever so quickly, as if I were flying. And then I would find myself next to you, or my sweet Annabelle. A few times I found myself shadowing Ella Harper."

"And did it never occur to you to…oh, I don't know, get my attention somehow?"

"Don't be a brute, of course it did." Henry drew himself up taller, affronted. "The Potter name is not that of fools. You should know. As I found myself near all of you, I realized I could hear and see everything each of you did, without you ever seeing me or hearing me in return. At least, in some respects."

That is when it dawned upon Harry.

"The book! It was you who gave the book to Ella. But why? How?"

"I wish I had a definitive answer to spare. Alas, I am just as perplexed as you are, Harry. The book appeared to me, covered in thick golden dust. It fell into my arms one afternoon, seemingly from the sky. Before I knew what was happened, the book had whisked me away to the Hogwarts library, like some kind of portkey. And…well, it seems silly to say. But it urged me on, you see. The dust on the book. It was like it had a mind of it's own. It lead me right to Ella Harper. And I left it where I knew she would find it. I just knew, for some reason, that was the task I needed to complete."

"Everything comes back to the dust," Harry murmured. "Voyager poussière."

"Ah," Henry mused, furrowing his brow. "Travelling dust, you say? I thought it might be. Ella Harper seemed to be pouring over books about such a substance."

"Look," Harry said, as a bead of sweat dropped down his back. "I don't know what just happened, but I think the dust, perhaps some remnants of it, brought me here. It takes you to what you need, not what you want. Otherwise, I'd be with Ella right now."

"Of course," Henry murmured.

"Well?" Harry bellowed. "You said you could help me find her! So goddammit, what can you do to help me out?"

"I can offer some assistance in the only way I know how. St. Mungo's, as you know, is where they keep the sick and weak. But where Ella is currently located is a far more dangerous place. She is with the eremitic brotherhood now."

"And they are?"

"Monks," Henry said simply. "But do not think them peaceful or simple, because in truth, they are neither. The brotherhood is extremely clever and extremely dangerous. They live a life of alienation, a life without compassion. And therefore, they are the some of the greatest experiments the world has seen." Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes, do not doubt me. They do not mean to be cruel, and they are under orders not to be, if not necessary. But the brothers have a thirst for the emotions they lack, and they devote their lives to doing the deeds of others, so that they might just once win a twinge of love in their cold hearts."

"Let me get this straight," Harry said, his head spinning before him. The sudden images of Death Eaters bloomed before his eyes, loyal subjects under cruel commands, men who were bound to serve without regrets. "These are monks who will do anything for approval? But they're willing to take away someone's capacity to feel emotion in the first place?"

Henry shrugged. "They are fascinated by it. Truthfully, I believe that they agreed to their methods in the hopes that the brain would show them how to feel. They haven't been so lucky." Henry reached around his neck and pulled out a glistening key, clear as ice but obviously made of diamond. "This key is the only key that can unlock the chambers of the eremitic brotherhood. This key will lead you to Ella."

"Give it to me," Harry said, snatching out for it, before his fingers cracked painfully against the barrier between them. He let out a snarl of frustration. At this moment, Ella could be in pain, she could be brain-dead, for all Harry knew.

"I cannot hand it to you. I cannot reach through the barrier. We must travel to St. Mungo's together." Henry paused and watched Harry carefully, examining his movements with a shrewd eye. "Do you trust me?"

"Trust you? I just met you. At this point, the only person I trust is Ella."

"Gods, Harry. You've learned quickly. Good thing too." Henry nodded with approval. "In this day and age, you can never quite trust anyone."

"What does that mean? I can trust Ella," Harry spat, pocketing his wand.

Henry smiled, the smirk playing around his lips in the most infuriating of manners, but his eyes, Harry noticed, were pained. Harry realized, with a start, that Henry knew something that he was not letting on. He was keeping Harry partially in the dark.

"Trust is as deep as the ocean, Harry. When you are trusted, you are embraced by waves of love, but you must be careful, for there is always an undercurrent to drag you down." Henry snapped his fingers, with impatience. "And now, it is time. Come on, Harry. Let's go find your lady."

"She's no one's-" But Henry disappeared on the spot. He didn't quite apparate, simply faded away. Harry rolled his eyes and followed suit, this time, landing directly outside of St. Mungos. It appeared to be little shabbier than Harry remembered it to be, smaller and more cramped, people filing in and out with illnesses that, at this time, possibly had no cure.

"Harry!" Henry was standing by the entrance, but had not gone inside. "Come on. Our destination is not quite here."

"Not here?" Harry asked, glancing into the lobby. It was decorated with bouquets of flowers scattered here and there. The healers all seemed to be women dressed in robes of white, wearing masks over their mouths and long gloves, much like the kind Harry's aunt used to wear while cleaning her kitchen.

"It's up there." Henry pointed towards the sky. Harry glanced upwards. Though it was a spring day, thick clouds grumbled overhead, casting out any sunshine. Harry frowned.

"There's no more than six stories here, how could it be…?"

"Perhaps things are different in your time, but people of this day and age do not wish to be seen visiting the eremitic brothers. It is a shameful thing, to love one who has gone mad. Here. Follow me."

Henry ducked around the side of the building and headed down a alleyway. Harry followed at close range.

"How do you know so much about the eremitic brothers anyway?" He asked.

"Annabelle," Henry replied. "I'm not sure if you are aware, but we've been promised to each other since we were children. Long before we were betrothed, even, I've known her well. I was there when her mother was first taken to the brothers. She doesn't know much, Annabelle. I don't think she wants to. But I saw how she was hurt, deep down. I've promised her to do everything in my powers to eliminate the brothers, at least someday."

"That's not quite how I meant," Harry replied. "I rather meant, how did you know where we are headed? How do you even have a key?"

"Perhaps that explanation is better served at a later hour. We are here." They had reached the end of the alley, and now faced the back door to what appeared to be a ale house. Harry glanced down at their feet and saw, sparkling in front of his eyes, a six-pointed star, encompassed by a circle. It was a drawing large enough to reach to both sides of the alley. "I think, at this time, it might be better for you to cast a disillusionment charm upon yourself, no?"

"And you?" Harry asked, beginning to cast the necessary spells, tapping himself on the head. He shivered as the spell almost _dripped _down his body.

"I cannot be seen. I haven't as of yet. Only you can see me." Henry produced the key from around his neck—he wore it on a thick leather strap that he kept tucked under the collar of his tunic. "Now, be quiet for just a moment. Let me speak." Henry closed his eyes and began to run the tip of the key over the points of the star. "Show us to your haven, protectors of the souls. Allow us entrance to your haven, where we will bear witness to your greatness, cleverness, and your kindness." Harry rolled his eyes. Then, without warning, Henry shoved the key into Harry's hands, still grasping the leather strap. Suddenly, Harry felt weightless, and he felt himself rising upwards, much like a balloon, shooting up past the windows and the rooftops, and then found himself immersed in the grey clouds.

"Hold on now, here it comes," Henry shouted, looking upwards. Harry jerked his eyes upwards as well, and then felt the urge to duck. Perhaps it was wind or water, Harry wasn't really sure, but something colorless, and yet solid, was rushing at them. It looked to Harry, quite simply, like a vortex. And then it swallowed him, and Harry felt as if his entire body was being squeezed and prodded until the vortex or wind or whatever the hell it was spit him out. For the second time that day, Harry landed face-first on marble floors, his chin throbbing angrily.

"Ouch," he muttered angrily, and then stood to his feet, still grasping the key in his hand. He brushed his knees off, and then glanced around. He and Henry were standing in a room with high ceilings. Harry saw a long desk at the end of the room, with an open book and a quill that seemed to be taking notes of it's own accord. Harry glanced up and saw that the room had no windows—all sources of light came entirely from the torches on the walls. The ceiling was painted pitch black. Harry shivered. The place gave him the creeps, and just thinking about Ella being trapped here, alone, made him more frightened and anxious than ever. "Let's go," Harry said quickly, heading towards the door at the end of the hall. But suddenly, Henry beckoned anxiously to him.

"Wait," he hissed, hunching his shoulders and quickly stepping into the shadows. He beckoned Harry to him. "Don't you hear them?" The room was silent.

"Hear who?"

And then, he understood. The door at the end of the hallway opened with a boom, and Harry glanced towards the source of the noise. Five men, if you could call them that, were staring blankly into the room, their nostrils flaring widely. The eremitic brothers had no pupils. Their eyes were large orbs that bulged in their sockets, and completely round, watery black circles that had no emotions reflected in their depths. Their heads were completely bald, and they had no ears on either side of their heads. Their noses were comprised of flaring, wide nostrils that stretched widely from one side of their face to the other, beginning where one ear might, and ending where the other ear would be. But it was their mouths that were the most disgusting part, Harry noted, for they weren't mouths at all. The eremitic brother's substitute for mouths were pert, pink circles anchored at the base of their round, chubby chins. The circles, Harry noticed, pulsated visibly, and were slick with a ropey purple substance. veins were visible on the edges of the circles, and in the center was a small little nob, much similar in appearance to a pimple, which squeezed out the purple substance every few moments. Harry felt as if he might vomit.

And then one of the brothers stepped forwards. He threw back his head and looked at the ceilings. And Harry heard him speak, even though the brother had no mouth.

_Who enters our abode? _The brother spoke through Harry's thoughts.


	14. Chapter 14

_State your purpose and title. _

Harry stayed frozen, doubled up as if he had just been punched in the stomach. He hardly dared breathe, let alone think, lest the brothers could hear his thoughts. Hear his thoughts? No wonder this was a place for the mad. If they weren't mentally unstable when they came here, they certainly soon would be.

Suddenly, more of the brother's voices joined in Harry's head, booming louder and louder until they sounded like the buzzing of a bee, screaming through Harry's ears until he screwed up his eyes and then—

_Enough. _He thought finally. And the voices ceased. At once, every brother turned to look in his direction, though Harry knew they could not see him. Beside him, Henry began to shake as the brothers moved towards them. Harry crept in the opposite direction, light on his toes, his wand by his side. Henry, with a pained expression, followed. It was obvious to Harry, at this point, that the mischevious genes in his family had not exactly originated with Henry. Sure, he had a devil-may-care smile and a carefree attitude, but he was as simperingly cowardly as Ron was whenever he saw a spider.

_Show yourself! _One of the brother's voices commanded loudly in his head, though his tone was not angry. Henry had told him the eremitic brothers had no emotions. This was clear. Their voices showed no anger, not even concern. It was a clear, ringing voice, but one that had no real tone. The thoughts, it seemed, carried Harry's own voice. The brothers conveyed their thoughts through Harry's own voice, and while this terrified Harry, to an extent, he pitied them as well. They were simply bodies, the brothers, not even identified by a distinctive voice.

Harry drew closer to the doors behind the desk, and then paused. The quill was still moving seamlessly across the pages, scribbling down names and numbers and dates and ages. It was recording everyone who came within the premises, Harry realized. He glanced down at the pages and tried to find Ella's name. And there it was, at the top, written in elegant script.

_Ella Ariel Harper—17 years—29, April 1616—Room 2001_

Harry stared at the numbers. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Room 2011. He shook his head. After everything Harry had seen, after everything Harry had been though in his life, he no longer believed in coincidences. He beckoned to a nervous Henry, and then began to move through the doors and out into the maze of hallways that made up the erertic brotherhood's sanctuary.

It was all made of marble. On the sides of the halls, much like Hogwarts, were figures cast in stone. But the figures were not friendly suits of armor or sculptures of famous past witches and wizards. Here, all the figures were gargoyles or what appeared to be demons of some sort—beautiful women with wide eyes, fearsome brows, and pointed teeth, much like vampires. Harry shivered. Then, he heard a bang. He turned behind him to see Henry, standing stock still, staring at the doors. They had closed behind him.

The rush of voices made their way back into Harry's mind.

_Who goes there?_

_What is your business?_

_Protect the prisoners._

_Find the intruders._

"Run!" Harry shouted at Henry. The two took off down the hallway, running in a straight line, their feet clapping against the marble floors as the torches quivered around them, the light shimmering like a lake's surface. Harry wished there were windows around him, and he almost tripped and fell at the surface of a female demon, whose stone hands were held above her like extended claws.

"Harry," Henry whispered, panting despite the fact his body wasn't solid. "Look." Harry turned to glance over his shoulder. The brothers were gliding down the hallway, as if they had no legs, no feet, as if they were flying. They looked eerily similar to dementors, and Harry felt his stomach contract. Harry glanced around, nervously, trying to find somewhere to hide, somewhere he could not be found.

And that's when he spotted the door. It was set back in the wall, behind the stone demon. It had no handle, only a key-shaped imprint in the middle of the door. Harry grappled with the key, slick with the sweat from his palm, and pressed it into the door. It swung open at once, and Harry hearded Henry inside before shutting it silently behind them. It locked at once.

They had found themselves in another hallway. This one, however, was full of light. Blinding, uncomfortable light. It was as if they were trapped inside the center of a cloud, the light was so white. Harry found himself squinting. And then he heard a moan. Harry looked quickly to his left. There was a cell there, small and rectangular, with a cot and a dirty sink. A man lay on the cot, moaning and shaking, as if having a seizure. On the ceiling above the cell hung a small sign. _Room 1000. _Harry crouched in front of the cell while Henry recoiled slightly, still glancing anxiously at the door they had just come through.

"Hello?" Harry asked the man, concerned. "Can you hear me?" He approached the cell bars, which were made of the same, diamond like material of the keys. He reached out to touch them, and was surprised by how cold they were. "Sir?"

The man moaned again, and then sat up straight in bed, looking through Harry. He let out a scream, and Harry saw that his eyes were utterly blank, wiped of the pupils of his eyes entirely. Harry stumbled backwards.

"He needs to see your corporal form, perhaps?" Henry asked. Harry nodded, though apprehensively, and then undid the disillusionment charm. The man still stared through Harry simply as if he wasn't there.

"Come on," Harry muttered to Henry, wincing as the man then let out a sob and collapsed back onto the mattress, his limbs shaking as if he was going through a withdrawl. "Let's find Ella." They began to make their way down the hallway, glancing into the cells as they went. The prisoners seemed to be in varied stages of 'treatment.' Some were screaming, as the first man did. Some were wiped free of expression, and muttered vacantly to the ceiling. A fraction of some prisoners found their eyes were a reel of memories, flashing across their eyes as they sat peacefully on the end of the cots. And others lay so still they appeared to be dead.

_Room 1999. _

_Room 2000._

Harry jogged to the last room.

_Room 2001._

Ella lay on her cot, her hair loose of its customary instruments, streaming over the side of her mattress and brushing against the floor. Her body didn't move, it was limp entirely, as if she had stopped breathing. Harry's heart stopped.

"Ella," he cried, moving towards the bars. She didn't move. She didn't adknowledge Harry. Harry grasped the bars and then ran his hands over them, trying to find a way in.

"The key, Harry," Henry said, keeping his cool. Harry glanced at him, and saw that Henry was staring at Ella with horror written over his expression, his face blanched of his customary glow. Harry grasped the key with his shaking hands, and then searched for the lock. There was none. "Give the key to me," Henry said, and Harry held it out to him. Somehow, Henry grasped the key in his almost-transparent hand, and then began to scrape it across the floor outside the cell, muttering under his breath. The cell bars clicked rapidly, and then disappeared. Harry ran inside and knelt next to Ella. Gently, he propped her head up on the crook of his elbow and ran a hand down the length of her face.

Her eyes were tightly shut, but the rest of her face was slack. She was paler than Harry had ever seen her. He held a set of fingers to her neck, to check her pulse. It was there, but hardly. Ella wasn't breathing.

"What's wrong with her?" Harry bemoaned, trying to wake her. He whispered her name in her ear. _Ella, wake up. It's me. It's Harry. Please wake up. We need to get you out of here. _Ella didn't move.

"I think it might be a sleeping drought of some kind," Henry said behind him, his voice stained with worry. "I think you need to-" And then suddenly, Henry began to disappear.

"Henry," Harry shouted. "What's happening?"

"I'm fading," Henry replied, just as confused, but no less calm. "It's taking me back now. Here!" With a quick gesture, he tossed the key to Harry, who caught it in one hand. "You can't apparate out. You need this to escape! Good luck, Harry! I will find you so-" And then he was gone.

"Henry?" Harry gulped and slung the key around his neck. He lightly moved Ella's head side to side, trying to wake her. She didn't move. "Ella, come on." Harry tugged on her slight frame, but it was heavier than usual, weighed down by her limp state. He tried to swing her over his shoulder, but found that the volume of her dress alone wouldn't allow him to do so.

"Wake up, Ella!" Harry shouted, growing more anxious by the moment. "I'm here to help you escape, come on, wake up!" He shook her shoulders. He pried open her eyelids and saw her eyes moving back and forth from side to side, as if watching a ping pong match. Harry could see her memories moving across her eyes like a film.

Frustrated, worried, and confused, Harry grabbed her tightly in a hug and cradled Ella against his chest. Her arms lay limply by her sides. In the depths of his mind, Harry suddenly heard his own voice.

_I do think you are in the wrong place. _Slowly, Harry turned his head towards the front of the cell. Three eremitic brothers stood there, hands clasped together as if in prayer. The most menacing prayer Harry had ever seen. _Let her go and come with us. Do not struggle and you will not get hurt. _Harry glanced back towards Ella, who continued to lay limp in his arms. Harry began to lower her back onto the cot, and then, quickly, pressed his lips to her forehead.

A set of hands grabbed Harry and dragged him backwards. One of the brothers had grabbed Harry and pulled him from the cell, his legs dragging uselessly across the stone floor. Harry struggled, reached for his wand, but saw that one of the brothers had plucked it from him. One of the other brothers waved a hand and the cell across from Ella's opened. The hands guided Harry inside, and threw him onto the cot. The cell bars then solidified in front of Harry's eyes.

_Henry Potter. Wait here until we decide what to do with you. _

_Bring in the Great One, _one of the brothers echoed in his head. _It's time we question what is happening in this place._

The brothers floated away, Harry's wand in their hands. Harry collapsed against the cold, sparkling bars, and hung his head. Everything, absolutely everything, had gone wrong. There was no escaping it now. Harry closed his eyes, ready to give up, and then—

"H-Harry?" A feeble voice sounded out from across the hallway. Harry glanced up, hardly daring to believe it.

"Ella?" He murmured.


	15. Chapter 15

"Harry." She sat up, rubbed her eyes. "What's going on?" She blinked rapidly, her beautiful eyes hazy. Harry saw her throat tighten in confusion as she whipped her head from side to side, trying to orient herself. "Where am I?"

"Don't worry," Harry replied, though he himself had a seedling of nerves bursting in the pit of his stomach. He looked through the bars to his cell, hoping that the brothers were not there, they couldn't be coming back so soon…Ella tried to stand up from her cot and immediately collapsed, her knees giving out from under her. "Just stay still. You have to trust me, there's nothing you can do quite yet."

"I…Have I been jailed?" Ella leaned forward and placed an apprehensive hand on the crystal-like bars in front of her. She shivered. "Gods above, show me guidance."

"In a manner of speaking," Harry replied, and Ella met his eyes from across the hallway. She reached through the bars, towards him, her arm extending as if she were passing him a torch. Harry reached for her hand, desperate to touch her again, just her fingertips at least. Their fingers quivered as they reached for each other, but it was too far a distance. Ella's eyes filled with tears as she strained to reach him, Harry could see it, and he felt his whole body react, shaking with fear and guilt and the urge to protect her. "We're with the eremitic brothers. This is their prison."

"But how?" Ella asked. "I just remember, I awoke with purpose. I came to find you-" and then she stopped speaking. It dawned upon her face. She set her jaw angrily. "Holden. He is responsible for this, is he not? He had us jailed." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted furiously. "He is a lot of this, but I never knew he was quite this cruel. To treat me as if I were less than human, like a…like an animal he can just lock away…"

"Not for long." Harry wrapped his hands around the bars. The sharp edges sunk into his skin, leaving deep indents in his cheeks. "I'm going to get us out of here, Ella. I promise you that. I don't know how I will do it, but if there's one thing I know, I'm going to get you out of that cell as quickly as I can."

The tears in Ella's eyes spilled over, streaking down her cheeks and clinging to her lashes. Harry was stunned for a moment as Ella sobbed loudly. She curled up her fists and brought them to her cheeks, as if she were trying to block imaginary punches.

"I'm sorry," she wailed. "This is all my fault."

"No," Harry said immediately. "No, it's not. It's my fault, Ella. I've done nothing but act as a burden to you since I got here. My appearance in your life has ruined it. I'm sorry."

Ella shook her head slowly, hiccupping on her sobs. "Oh no, Harry. If it's anyone who has gotten us into this mess, it is me." She sighed. "I need to tell you something now. And I hope you will forgive me, Gods will it, but I of course understand that it is improbable you will do so." Harry remained silent, watching Ella motionlessly as she steeled herself. "I have betrayed you, Harry. I have taken advantage of your humanity in the worst way possible, I have manipulated the good in you and used it to my advantage."

"What do you mean? I don't believe-"

"Believe me, Harry, you must. I did betray you. You see, when you first arrived here, I knew you were not Henry. I could tell you were not from any era I've been witness to. You were unlike any person I had ever met, in that you trusted me. You met me and treated me as a person, as an equal, with no questions or lies. When I first learned about the travelling dust, I did not tell you. No, wait-" She held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth to interrupt. "I did not discover it yesterday, as you may believe. I discovered your true origins ages ago. I knew the dust brought you to this time from the beginning. But I thought that maybe, if I learned why it brought you here, for what purpose…oh, I am so ashamed."

"Ashamed of what?" Harry asked, his heart sinking as he watched her bury her face in her hands.

"I thought I could take your place, Harry. I believed that if I found the travelling dust, if I knew why you came here, I could reverse that, I could use the reason you came here to travel back to your time instead, leaving you stuck here, in this time."

"So why didn't you?"

"Sorry?"

"Why didn't you go?" Harry asked. He could feel heat and anger rushing to his face, clouding his eyes and judgment. He willed himself not to yell at her, and found that he couldn't. He loved her. "Why didn't you just take off without me?"

"Because I learned what kind of man you are," Ella replied.

"And I'm what? What kind of man am I, Ella? What am I to you?"

Ella paused. "You are the kind of man who taught me to trust. You taught me that trusting people isn't weak, and that it can lead to good. You are the kind of man that is both gentle and strong, fierce and protective. You are the kind of man who looks for the good in everyone, and shows that in return to everyone you meet. And you…" Ella broke off and cast her eyes down. She opened and closed her mouth, as if to continue, but no sound came out.

"What?" Harry asked. "What else?"

Ella's mouth puckered and she closed her eyes. "You are the man I fell in love with and the kind of man that I knew, as soon as I realized how much I love you, that no one else, ever, would live up to the person you are."

"You know," Harry said quietly. "I've been used before. Not for quite the same reason as you said you were going to use me, but I've been used and manipulated all the same." Ella glanced away, and Harry saw her shoulders slump. She wiped her brow. "It never felt like you were using me. Why is that?"

Ella reached out for him again, briefly, and then closed her fingers into a fist and let her hand fall to the floor before he could even reciprocate the gesture.

"Because I fell in love with you very quickly and very deeply, Harry. And you might not believe this, you have no reason too, but I held information from you not because I was trying to manipulate you by keeping you from returning to your home, but because I was hoping there was a way we could be together."

"Is there a reason I should believe you?"

Ella smiled bitterly. "Harry, you've seen my world. You have now lived a life you never were supposed to see. I think you may understand that in this world, love is a very foreign concept. I was never raised to believe that I would love a man or even meet a man like you. I was raised to understand that marriage and reproduction were my duties, not a privilege I could someday share with the man I want to be with. So believe me or not, just know this. I fell in love with you. I never thought I would fall in love at all, but I did. And I'm not sorry I fell in love with you, but I am incredibly sorry that I ever hurt you."

Ella stood up and brushed her hands on her skirts. She shook back her hair and closed her hands around the bars, her face small and scared, but determined all the same.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, rising to his feet.

"I know where we are," Ella reminded him. "And I know what I must do now. It's the only way out."

"No," he said forcefully, willfully, and Ella stared at him defiantly. "You can't go with them. You can't let them just…just clear your brain like that. You can't."

"There's no point, Harry." She wore the smallest of smiles now, a wan, saddened one, and Harry had never been so frustrated. "Holden has broken our engagement. My parents will want to marry me off to another man I don't know, if I am released from this place. I have nowhere to go, no real prospects in life. And I have loved and lost, Harry. This is what was meant to be."

"Lost?" Harry asked. "Damn if you've lost anything, I'm standing right here, aren't I?"

"I manipulated you. I tried to trick you. I tried to trap you. I love you very much, but you shouldn't love me back. I haven't treated you with the respect you give me, and I hate myself for that."

"You did manipulate me," Harry repeated quickly, glancing down the hallway. There was a sudden whoosh, and the door, a tiny speck in his vision, swung open. The brothers were coming back. He began to speak more quickly. "You manipulated me and I'm thankful for it. You know why? If what you say is true, your original intent is what kept me here as long as I've been in this world and I thank god it has, because if it wasn't for that, I wouldn't have realized what I need in my life."

"But Harry-"

"Oh," Harry interrupted. "And I love you, too."

And that's when everything changed. Harry's eyes met Ella's, and Harry knew in that moment, that whatever happened, he would always love her more than anyone he had ever met. The love for Ella rose within him, crashing through his veins and his lungs and tingling through his spine, and swelling through his heart, and he wanted to touch her more than he had ever wanted anything in this world, and—the bars sprung open. He looked up, surprised, and saw that the bars in Ella's cell had sprung open too, and she was staring at where they had been, stunned.

"Ella!" Harry shouted. The brothers were gliding more quickly down the hall, as if they were running, and a large, hooded figure followed them at a terrifyingly fast pace. Harry grabbed for Ella's hand. "Run!"

"Harry wait," Ella said, grabbing his arm. She glanced down the hallway, terrified at the sight of the brothers. "There's no where to go." Harry turned behind him, and his heart dropped to the bottom of his shoes. There was no door at the end of the hallway. The brother's thoughts began to cloud his head.

_Great One, they have escaped._

_Great One, seize them._

_Great One, kill them._

Harry threw out an arm, casting Ella behind him, and faced the brothers, ready to fight, somehow, with all the power he had—and then he realized what they had brought with them. The Great One, the shrouded figure, was a dementor, or some sort of crossbreed. It had the characteristics of a dementor, all right, scabby, grey skin, rattling breath, and an overwhelming aura of cold that Harry could feel shake through his body. And yet, its face was different, it had the face of an eremitic brother, round and pert, but Harry could see that something had taken over the face, a picture of cruel hatred, and the features of the dementor were beginning to collapse into themselves. Harry realized that this was the first dementor, the one that would spawn them all.

"What is it?" Ella whispered from behind him, terrified.

_He is we._

_He is the Greatest One of all._

_Such Power._

_Such Strength._

The dementor bore down on them, Harry could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise, he prepared himself to die, and then—

"Oi!" He heard someone shout. Harry heard Ella gasp. From seemingly nowhere, Annabelle and Henry had appeared behind the brothers, wands extended. Annabelle's mouth twisted into an arrogant smile. "Didn't anyone tell you never to cross another's family?" There were bursts of lights from the end of the wands, and the brothers collapsed. The dementor squealed—a high-pitched sound that left Harry with a ringing in his ears for moments afterwards—and flew out through the wall, disappearing into the clouds. "Come on, you two," Annabelle said quickly, throwing a pair of wands at them. Ella stared in amazement. "That one will be back any second, and it's bringing friends."

**A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks for reading, and please remember to review this!**


	16. Chapter 16

"I have a few questions-" Ella piped up, still clutching Harry's arm with an iron grip.

"Come on," Annabelle urged her. "Talk while you run, if you can. The corset does make it difficult, I concede, but there is…" From outside came more squeals, and the tones were so high pitched that they ran through Harry's bones like an electric current. The four began to run down the hall, their footsteps echoing off the eerie walls. The prisoners moaned in their cells, and for a moment, Ella lagged behind, biting her lip.

"What is it?" Harry asked, pausing beside her.

"It's just…" Ella glanced into one cell, where a young girl, not much younger than Harry, was sitting on the floor, clutching her head. "Can't we free them somehow?"

"Hurry!" Annabelle and Henry chanted from the end of the hallway.

"You know we can't," Harry said, glancing fearfully at the girl, who had begun to rock back and forth. "It could alter history somehow, just the smallest thing…"

"I know," Ella said quietly, and then allowed Harry to drag her along, her small hand slipping in his, and he knew what she was thinking. _We've already altered history. _They had, indeed. They might not have altered history, even, but ripped a hole through time. Fear clutched Harry's heart at the thought of the world he had created, years ahead, the own world he had fought so hard to protect…

"Oi!" Henry shouted, as they ducked into the high-ceilinged entrance. It remained empty, though they had certainly made enough noise to attract unwanted attention. "The wands! Their wands!"

Annabelle ran to the desk with the self-authoring book, as Harry and Ella stood by, dumbfounded. She pulled open drawers at random, her hands shaking with nerves.

"I might be going mad," Ella whispered into Harry's ear; "but unless I'm mistaken, Henry is standing by us, in the flesh. And it seems like everyone else can see him and hear him."

"Holes in the space and time continuum," Henry said aloud, grinning lazily at the pair of them. Harry and Ella gaped at him. "So I've had some time to do some reading and research of my own…it helps that I didn't have to carry on a conversation for a few weeks…"

Annabelle bustled by them, pressing their wands into their hands each, respectively.

"We don't have much time," she said, suddenly drawing close to Harry. Ella frowned, but Annabelle merely ripped the key from around Harry's neck. In her hand, it sparkled more brightly than he had seen it do before. From down in the cells, Harry heard more screeches, growing closer.

"They're here," Ella and Henry said in unison, and Ella's complexion blanched considerably.

"Being from the future has some advantages," Harry noted. "Give me a moment." He closed his eyes and felt Ella beside him, heard her voice in his head… _I love you. _He raised his wand, and a stag burst from the tip. He heard the others let out a hushed sigh of wonder as the patronus galloped through the doors and the screeches increased in volume.

"Quickly now," Henry urged nervously, glancing towards the doors towards the cells, which rattled ominously. Annabelle knelt quickly on the floor, pushing her skirts aside with impatience. She began to draw symbols like Henry had just hours before, and whispered into the air. Harry could see her breath begin to solidify as the air grew colder…

"Harry," Ella whispered from beside him. "What are those things?"

She was still temporarily weakened from whatever the eremitic brothers had done to her. Her eyelids began to slip, flickering nervously in their sockets, and Harry grabbed her shoulders.

"Just look at me, Ella. Don't worry about them, they're not important. They won't hurt you, okay?"

"Harry-" Ella began to say, reaching out to grasp his collar, and Harry tightened his grasp around her waist, supporting her as her legs began to slip.

"Got it!" Annabelle shouted, standing triumphantly. She backed away from her intricate drawing, and then glanced at Harry, her jaw set. "It's time."

"Well go on!" Harry shouted as he glanced towards the portal she had created. It didn't look like the one Henry had made earlier, that was for sure. The inside was crackling with lightening and black in color, whips of clouds swirling angrily and steaming out of the portal, giving it the appearance of an bubbling cauldron. "We're coming behind you!"

"This isn't our portal," Annabelle said indignantly, looking to Henry. She stopped for a moment, and then let out a shriek of her own over the crackle of lightening. "Henry! You didn't tell him?"

"I had to come get you, didn't I? Didn't have a choice." Henry ducked his head, a blush working it's way across his face and spreading through his neck.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, and Ella moaned in his arms, trying desperately to stand on her own. She tried to form words, but Annabelle just shook her head.

"This is the portal to take you home. There's another one for us, to get us back to school. But you need to use it now, get through and let Henry return to his corporal form."

"Great, then. Thanks for your help, I really appreciate it. I'll let you get back to…whatever." Harry began to move forwards, bringing Ella along with him, but Annabelle threw out a hand.

"You can't bring her."

"What, like that portal isn't big enough for two?" Harry shouted angrily.

"It doesn't work like that. It could mess everything up, throwing her in there. It could kill her, Harry, just look at the state of her." Harry glanced down at Ella, who was still pale and struggling to stand. He ran a hand quickly over her brow and down her neck. Her pulse was steady, but her skin was clammy.

"Then its obvious," Harry said stubbornly. "I'm not going. Take us all back to the school, I can figure out a way to get back from there, if need be."

"The time, the time," Henry hissed, urgently, wringing his hands. "He doesn't know."

Annabelle glanced at the doors. The shrieks of the embryonic dementors chimed with the prisoners, and she winced.

"This is your last chance to get home," she warned him. "Listen, Harry. The dust only gave you a time frame before it would ultimately keep you frozen in this time, effectively killing you and your future." She glanced at Henry and gulped. "Killing the bloodline in the process."

"But…" Harry glanced at Ella who had managed to stand on her own, though she swayed slightly as she gripped his elbow. He felt angry tears rise to his eyes. Why did it always have to come to this: sacrifice? It caused him nothing but pain, or it had, until he had met Ella. "I can't just leave her."

"You have to," Ella croaked suddenly, grabbing his collar with much more force than she had before. "I read the book, Harry. The book about you."

"You read that whole thing?"

"Of course I did. I'm clever, that's what you said, and I wanted to live up to the reputation to proceeded me." The tears in Harry's eyes threatened to spill over, and he swallowed hard. "I…I know what you've done in your time, Harry. If it weren't for you, The Dark Wizard, Voldemort, he would be alive…"

"Don't-"

"Muggles would be oppressed-"

"You can't change my-"

"Ron and Hermione would be dead."

"Mind." Harry breathed out the last word, and the portal seemed to sense a bit of shock in him, relent even, and the lightening struck out towards the high ceilings. Annabelle shrieked and ducked out of the way, falling into Henry's shadow, who had backed away from the portal himself. Ella remained firmly where she was.

"If you hadn't lived through those things and become the man you are, you wouldn't have developed into the man I love," she breathed, her eyes growing glassy. "You have to go Harry, just…you have to go for me. I'll be safe, these two will help me. I know they will."

Annabelle and Henry nodded fervently.

"But I love you," Harry repeated, his stomach dropping, his heart bursting, his eyes wet with the tears that had finally spilled over.

"And I you." Ella folded up Harry's hand and held it close to her heart. "But it doesn't change the fact that you have a whole world waiting on you, when I am strong, like you taught me. I'll find a way to get along, somehow." Her eyes were lying, he could tell. She was strong, yes, but terrified too—and he knew the words she spoke were a sacrifice of her own. She was sacrificing what had become everything to her, for a world and people she didn't even know.

Harry seized her and pressed his lips to hers. Ella responded full-heartedly, looping her arms tightly around his neck. He could feel her long lashes batting against the bridge of his nose, the skip of her heart against his body, and the heat of her skin, warming against his. He could feel every cell in his body leap at the touch of her lips, impossibly strong and soft all at once, and nothing else could affect him in this moment. And then, he let her go. Ella moved backwards more quickly than he could have anticipated, holding a hand over her lips.

"Get her out of here!" Harry commanded to Henry, who nodded curtly to Annabelle. Annabelle nodded at Henry too, and both she and Henry moved at the same time. Annabelle curtseyed, and Henry bowed. It was absurd and off-putting, but fitting all the same, and Harry felt an overwhelming sense of courage. He looked at Ella one last time. "I will find you, Ella. That's a promise."

He saw her jaw tighten once as she nodded at him. She raised her hand and let her fingers wiggle through the air in a graceful movement—her last goodbye. Harry turned around; he couldn't look at her for one more moment before he would refuse to leave at all. He took a breath and jumped into the portal, bringing him back to his future, but away from his destiny.


	17. Chapter 17

"Harry? Can you hear me?" An eager voice rung through his head, which throbbed painfully. Harry tried to open his eyes, but he did so too quickly, and the colors swan before him in a hazy, painful blur. He blinked twice. A woman grasped his arm, he could tell be the length of her nails. She squeezed—too tight—and Harry winced.

"Let him go, Hermione, he looks like death."

"He's trying to talk, Ron, stop being so bossy." Harry almost felt the absurd desire to laugh as he heard his best friends bickering around him. As slowly as he could, without inducing any more pain than the source searing through his skull, Harry swallowed and attempted to open his eyes once more. Hermione and Ron were crowded around him, peering eagerly over his face like a set of over bearing parents watching their child sleep.

"I've never heard someone call Ron bossy," Harry managed to choke out. The very effort of speaking nearly drained all his energy, and he felt as if his throat was on fire. He shook his head. Ron managed a faint grin.

"He's trying to talk, Ron." Ron mimicked his wife, and though Harry knew that if this had taken place a few years ago, Hermione would have leapt at his throat, claws out, she simply stared at her husband, trying not to smile. They still bickered constantly, but in the past few years, Hermione had gotten much better at ignoring her husband's quips. "How are you feeling, Harry? Down right bloody-"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted, her voice rising a few octaves. "Maybe we should get a healer? Tell them Harry's awake."

"Right, yeah." But Ron didn't budge from his spot. He simply stared at Hermione, and she stared back. Harry watched the both of them, in too much pain to even comment on their pathetic staring contest. Finally, Hermione stood and tossed back her bushy hair and stomped her foot, as if she were five, not twenty-one. Ron turned back to Harry, and unless Harry was mistaken, Ron stared at him with a reserved type of horror. The freckles on his skin stood out more than usual. "You gave us a right scare, mate."

Harry tried to raise his hands and gesture to Ron. What happened? His whole body felt as if it were being ripped apart. Ron patted Harry's arm as gently as he could, and Harry let his arm collapse down and slip over the side of his bed.

"You got hit by a bus, mate. Not just any bus, the knight bus. They don't know how it happened; daft kid, that Stan. Usually they're pretty good about avoiding things, you've seen how that bloody bus jumps around and all that. But they say you fell from the sky, Harry. In the middle of day, just fell from the sky into the street." Harry's head throbbed again as he struggled to understand what Ron was telling him. He had just fallen from the sky? Nonsense, it had to be some kind of misunderstanding, but Harry wasn't sure how.

"Do you remember anything that happened?" Ron urged him, his tone hushed.

Harry strained to remember what had happened last. He had been on his way to work, that was all. Wasn't it? That's the last thing he could remember. But it felt as if there was something missing, something terribly important. Suddenly, Harry's heart ached far more terribly than his body. He turned his head so Ron would not see that his eyes had begun to water from frustration, confusion, and the most intriguing sense he had lost something.

Three Days Later:

"You have everything, right?" Hermione flittered nervously around Harry's room, touching the vases of flowers that were beginning to wilt. Ginny stood at the end of Harry's bed, holding a duffle bag of some clothes she had brought him, as well as a few vials of pain potion for the cramps that plagued his legs. "And you can always send us an owl if anything goes wrong."

"Hermione, it's fine," Harry protested from bed, and Ginny rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"Got medicine, got clothes, and we'll send a patronus if we need to. Faster that way." Ginny winked at Harry, who smiled weakly back. Smiling still made him feel as if his skull was being sliced open. "Really, you worry too much. It's nothing we can't handle."

"Come on, 'Mione," Ron piped up. "I think these two have spend enough time in any and all hospital wings to know how to handle their various injuries."

"Hmm," Hermione sniffed, but allowed Ron to take her hand and guide her out of the room.

Ginny had arrived the day earlier, after taking a red-eye flight on a muggle plane. Cross-country apparition was illegal, and flying on a broom would have taken far too long.

"Besides," Ginny said as she helped Harry up the stairs to his apartment. "On muggle flights, the chairs are comfortable. They give you food and have you ever had _soda? _I had never even heard of coca caca-"

"Coca Cola," Harry corrected with a smile.

"Whatever. It was wonderful." Ginny sighed and unlocked the apartment door. Harry stood in the doorway for a moment, examining the living room, as if there was something off with it. It looked different somehow, not familiar, but Harry wasn't sure why. It was as if he had been on holiday and had gotten used to another location. He almost laughed at the thought as he made his way to his favorite leather armchair and dropped into it.

Ginny fidgeted by the door for a moment. Harry could see her bags were still in the living room, unpacked. She wasn't planning on staying for long, from what he could tell. Disappointment clouded his consciousness.

"I can only stay for a few more days," Ginny said aloud, as if reading his mind. She knelt in front of the fireplace and flicked her wand. The living room was instantly filled with warm light that flickered on the brick walls. "Work has been killer, especially since I was just here."

"Is that so?" Harry asked, annoyed. "Playing Quidditch in Australia really must be hard for you."

Ginny sighed, her eyes growing wide. She sat in the chair next to Harry's and squeezed his hand hard. He smothered the instinct to yank it away.

"I know we've been off for a while, Harry." He nodded. The last time she had come to visit—why—just the other day, she had refused to even share his bed. "I've just felt as if you've been distracted for, well, the past three years. I'm trying my hardest to understand, but you have to be patient with me."

Harry stared at Ginny. Her eyes were solemn and pleading, and he couldn't bear to see that in the eyes that used to be so fierce and so stubborn. Harry reluctantly nodded and Ginny leaned forward to plant a kiss on his cheek. Her lips shocked his skin when she did so, but not in the way that excited him, but rather, made him wish he could draw away from her.

They sat in silence for a bit, Harry staring at the fire, and Ginny staring at him, trying to make small conversation, but Harry remained uninterested. Something within him had changed in the past few days, and he couldn't figure out what it was. It was driving him mad. His relationship with Ginny, though it had been strained in the past few years, was always something he was willing to work on, but now his mind and his heart were telling him that it couldn't be fixed. Harry was broken inside, something was missing. And yet, something in the back of his head told him that somewhere, there was a solution to this—but Ginny wasn't it.

"Harry?" Ginny asked, interrupting his thoughts, and Harry jerked himself out of his thoughts, sliding out of the chair a bit. "We should probably get you to bed. Its already ten-thirty, Hermione would have a heart attack if she heard I kept you up this late." She helped him up out of his armchair (his limbs were still clumsy and heavy from the anti-pain potions and the sheer force of his accident) and urged him up the stairs. When she brought him into his bedroom, Harry moved to lie down on his bed, ready to fall asleep in the soft t-shirt Ron had loaned him.

Ginny fidgeted again by his bedside. This was a new habit. The old Ginny, the one Harry had fallen in love with had never been prone to fidgeting—she had acted without thought or reason, she acted out of pure will and spontaneity, and that was what Harry had loved about her.

"What's up?" Harry questioned as he propped up his pillows in an attempt to get comfortable.

"I…" Ginny sat down on the edge of his bed and grasped his hand. "I talked to the healers about how long it would be until we could…"

"Oh," Harry said, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. He found himself hoping that the healer had outlawed all physical contact. "And…?"

Ginny leaned forward and hesitantly brushed her lips against his. Almost immediately, Harry pulled away. His body recoiled automatically at Ginny's touch, and she furrowed her brow, hurt. His entire body was screaming in protest at her touch, and he felt his stomach contract. The gap in his heart, whatever was missing, seemed to grow enlarged by her touch. Even his body seemed to know their relationship was past the point of real reconciliation.

"Ginny," Harry began. "I can't do this."

"Do what? If it hurts too much, I understand."

"No." Harry shook his head. He pointed to Ginny, and then turned his finger onto himself. "This. This relationship. You're right, I've been distant, and I think it's just because I don't…I don't feel a connection anymore." Ginny looked away, biting her lip in confusion, and Harry paused. He had never really broken up with anyone for real before, only with Ginny once, and it was hardly real. "Do you?"

Ginny looked up at him, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw frustration flash through her eyes. He thought she might slap him, but then surprisingly, Ginny laughed.

"No, I don't," she said. She shook her head as well, and then squeezed Harry's hand in an almost reassuring manner. "Maybe that's why I've been so frustrated with our relationship. I've been trying to fix something that wasn't there."

"Exactly," Harry breathed, relieved that she understood. Ginny smiled, but tentatively so.

"I've got Quidditch, and you've got all the auror stuff," she pointed out. "We just took two paths that weren't merge together, I suppose."

Harry nodded. She was right. The paths they had started on three years ago had been what drove them apart, but the path Harry had taken had been his enlightenment, as well. Or that's what he guessed—he still wondered about the answer to what he was missing.

"Do you believe in fate?" Harry asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"I didn't used to," Ginny admitted. She fixed him with her unwavering, but not unkind gaze. "Now, I'm not so sure." She patted his leg, and then stretched as she stood up. She paused in his doorway. "I think, you know, I better stay at Ron's tonight."

"Probably for the best," Harry agreed from his spot in bed.

"Sorry if Hermione shows up on your front step," Ginny called as she began her descent down the stairs. Harry grinned to himself. He heard her shuffling around the living room, and then heading for the front door, her bags rolling behind her. She called out a goodbye, a surprisingly upbeat and friendly one for someone who had just gone through a break-up, and then shut the door behind her.

Harry settled back against the pillows, trying to figure out what he was feeling. He was slightly sad; sure, he had dated Ginny for years. She had been the first girl he really loved. But more than anything, he felt relief. Harry closed his eyes, envisioning the empty hole in his chest beginning to fill, and then, in his own imagery, he saw something strange. Golden dust began to cross his consciousness, filling his heart, his chest, his veins, and his blood. Harry gasped and felt his eyes fly open.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry felt his hands begin to shake. He glanced down, his heart pounding, as he extended his arms in front of him. He flexed his fingers, the joints aching. Gold dust, the very same he had just seen moments before, suddenly appeared from thin air, snaking its way around Harry's fingers and hands with ghostly tendrils. Harry's breathing quickened as he watched the dust with apprehension. Something about the substance was familiar to Harry, hardly suspicious, but all the same, he watched its trajectory with care.

In one moment, the dust suddenly sunk into Harry's skin. Harry felt it in his blood, streaming through every limb and organ, and suddenly, his brain jolted. Harry blinked, and his vision was suddenly overcome with a sense of driving purpose he couldn't quite identify. It was much like the effects of the Felix Felicis he had taken his sixth year, but now it was much more urgent.

Harry stood on his own, his body suddenly much stronger under the effects of the strange dust. He hurried to his closet and pulled on a pair of shoes and a sweatshirt with a thick hood. He grasped his wand tightly and slid it up his left sleeve—just in case. The dust that had encapsulated him was directing him where to go, it lead him with gentle shoves down his stairs and out past the dining room and kitchen towards the front door of his flat.

The owner of the market downstairs, Jeff, was in Harry's hallway packing boxes in a small storage room he rented for his own use.

"Hi, Jeff," Harry said, beginning his descent down the stairs, towards the front door of his building.

"Oi, it's raining outside," Jeff replied, nodding to Harry's sweatshirt. "I'd yank that hood up if I were you, it's pouring like mad."

Harry nodded, and did as Jeff suggested, pulling the hood up over his head and pulling the strings to frame the hood more tightly around his face. However, it seemed that the gesture was in vain, as when Harry opened the door to his building, the golden dust stopped leading him. In fact, his vision cleared almost immediately. Harry felt his limbs almost go numb, and he steadied himself in the doorway. Rain slapped down on the street outside, pelting his shoes as he stood on the top step of his building. He squinted out into the darkness when suddenly, he saw a light appear in front of him.

It was a ball of blue light, around the size of Harry's torso. It began to spin through the air, whirling like a ballerina, until suddenly, the center of the ball of light burst open. The glowing light bust outwards in a quick blast, momentarily blinding Harry. He threw a hand up over his eyes, protecting his vision. But hardly a moment passed by until all was dark again, and he could hear the rain washing over the pavement once more.

And then, suddenly: "Harry?"

Harry lowered his hand, blinking through his rain-soaked glasses, and saw the shape of a woman standing before him. Rather, he assumed it was a woman, he couldn't be quite sure, as her face was hidden by shadows; but whomever it was wore an elaborate dress that was furnished with a heavily tiered skirt.

"Who's there?" Harry called into the shadows. He raised his wand and tapped it to his glasses, casting an impermanence spell. The rain cleared immediately, and Harry watched as the woman stepped closer to him, ducking out of the rain, and his heart beat more quickly with an anticipation that seemed too familiar.

The woman came into the light that was only provided by a flickering street lamp a few feet away. She raised her head to meet Harry's eyes, and at once, he felt a surge of memories pass over him. There she was, kneeling over him with calculating eyes and concern in her voice. There she was, reassuring him that he wasn't mad. There she was, eagerly asking him about his life and the society he knew. There she was, lifting her chin to receive his kiss in the Hogwarts kitchen. There she was, unconscious in a cell with her mind violated and probed. And there she was, her lips moving against Harry's as he held her for the last time before leaving her…

But she was here. She was standing in front of him now, flesh and blood, and god, _he remembered._

"Ella?" He whispered, moving forward a little, his voice catching at the end of her name. "Ella." He ran down the steps and grabbed her up into his arms, and she gasped with a small bubble of relieved laughter. She buried her face in the shoulder of his sweatshirt and her fingers grappled to grasp onto him, as if he were about to leave again.

"Harry," she said, her voice slightly muffled. "Harry, I-" She drew back and Harry placed his hands on her face, running his thumbs over the curve of her high cheekbones. Ella snuck her hands upwards, grasping onto the crooks of his elbows. Harry leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She tasted of vanilla, just as she had the last time he had kissed her. He could feel her chest rising and falling against his as she raised her hands to tangle in his hair. The rain beat down relentlessly on the pair, but they didn't break away for a while.

Finally, when Ella drew back, her forehead leaning against Harry's, they both broke out into smiles, mirroring one another.

"You wouldn't believe what I had to go through to get here." Ella shook back her hair, free of her usual ornate jewels.

"Why don't you tell me all about it?" Harry asked, refusing to take his eyes off her. Her eyes glowed in the gas-lit streetlights, the color like melting butter, and he blinked in wonderment. _How could he ever have forgotten about her? _But that was besides the point now. She was with him, in his arms, and staring up at him with the clever spirit he had fallen in love with. Harry took her hand. "But come inside before you do," he added.

"Inside?" Ella asked, looking up at Harry's building, her eyes traveling over it with surprise and bemusement. "Up there?"

"It might not be a castle," Harry said, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist and kissing her temple. "But I can offer you a bed and a bath and perhaps a cup of tea." He ran a hand through her sopping wet hair, which was more wavy than usual.

"I would like that," Ella said. "But it's late. Perhaps we should just have tea at this hour? We can talk at great lengths tomorrow, I presume."

"Ella, we have all the time in the world."


	19. Chapter 19

One Month Later:

They had invited them to dinner. The former they being Ron and Hermione, the latter Harry and Ella. It had taken Ron a while to come around, presumably because he was still rather angry over Harry and Ginny's breakup and Harry's seamless movement into another relationship. Hermione, on the other hand, had been asking Harry and Ella to come to dinner the day after Ella had shown up on Harry's front step.

But now, Ella and Harry approached Ron and Hermione's home on a rather humid May evening, just as the light began to transition into twilight. Ella's hand swung back and forth, her fingers nervously tapping her thigh as she prepared herself to meet Ron. She had met Hermione before, Harry had asked Hermione to help procure Ella a job at the Ministry just a few weeks before, and to no great surprise, Ella and Hermione had gotten along almost instantly.

"Are you sure I'm dressed to par?" Ella was trying out new vocabulary she heard around work and London, _par _being her word of the week. She smoothed out her skirt, something she had bought at Harrods's. It was knee-length and royal blue and made of chiffon. No matter how hard she tried, Ella expressed her discomfort while attempting to wear pants, and so she stuck to skirts and dresses.

"You look amazing, as always."

"But will your friends like it?" Ella bit down on her bottom lip. She was attempting to wear make-up now too, just a bit, as the colors and the application process awed her. The tiniest bit of peach-tinged lip-gloss smeared by this gesture, running down over her bottom lip. Harry gently wiped it away with his thumb and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"I can tell you one thing about my friends," Harry said, thinking of Hermione's bushy hair and Ron's old dress robes from their fourth year at school. "It really won't matter what you wear around them, they're hardly the type to judge over that sort of thing." Harry gripped the elderberry wine more firmly in his hand as he and Ella approached the Weasley's flat. Harry hardly has time to rap on the door once before it swung open to reveal an eager Hermione, who was wearing an apron.

"Hi, Hermione," Harry said as she enveloped him in a hug, though she had just seen him two days previous. Hermione then turned to Ella and hugged her as well. Ella's face contorted over Hermione's shoulder, and Harry was tempted to laugh. Hugging women, in Ella's time, was taboo, but Ella was trying to learn to let go of all those customs—for the most part.

"Come in, come in," Hermione gushed, taking the wine from Harry and leading them inside. Their home was warmly furnished, with leather chairs and couches and a soft sherbet wall paper. Ella smiled, relaxed for a moment, but then sobered as Ron entered the foyer, frowning in his button-down shirt. Harry recognized the shirt immediately, it was the one Hermione always insisted he wear for special occasions, and Ron hated it. Harry prayed silently that he would be polite to Ella, and not treat her like he treated Cho Chang, Harry's first girlfriend.

"Hi," Ron said, nodding to Harry, slightly sullen. He then turned to Ella and stuck out his hand in a punctual manner, (polite but slightly cold all the same), to shake her hand. Ella stared at his hand, still not used to the custom of hand shaking. Almost every time she met someone, she recited the cover story she and Harry had come up with, that she was from a small island off the coast of Australia, where people still curtsied and kissed the hands of ladies, instead of shaking them. They figured it was an easier story than telling people Ella was actually a noblewoman from 1616. Besides, Ella didn't like fuss. Ella shook his hand firmly, and then smiled at Harry.

"So you're Ella," Ron said, crossing his arms and looking from her to Harry. Harry could see that her unconventional beauty impressed Ron, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. He stared at her intently. "Ella from 1616."

"2001 now," Ella replied.

"So how did you get here, anyway?" Ron asked as Hermione walked back into the foyer, wringing her hands.

"Yes, I don't believe we've heard the whole story," Hermione said in an encouraging tone. She led them all into the dining room with a sweep of her arm. When Ella's head was turned, she gave Ron a warning glare, but Ron continued to look defiant. "Must be quite a tale."

Ella sat down next to Harry, and under the table, she reached for his hand. Harry laced his fingers with hers. "Do you want to tell, Harry? Or shall I?"

Harry began. "Well, you both know what happened to me, with the travelling dust."

"_Voyager poussière," _Hermione said, nodding wisely. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Well, Ella figured out many of its properties when I was back there," Harry said, smiling at the way he sounded—it was almost as if he had taken a holiday, not travelled back 400 years. "When I was gone, she used her research and everything to find me."

"That's too simple," Ron pressed.

"What's the whole story?" Hermione queried, turning her gaze to Ella. "That is, if it's alright to tell."

"Oh, yes," Ella said. She leaned forward a bit and bowed her head, modest. "Well, once Harry had gone, he had come back here. And his ancestor, Annabelle, she agreed to help me. You see, once Harry had gone, the man who had lost his place to Harry's appearance, Henry-"

"That relative of yours?" Ron asked, slinging his gaze onto Harry. "Your great great great grandfather or whatever?"

"Something like that," Harry replied. "Go on, Ella."

"Well, Henry knew some things about Time Travel and the properties of the dust as well. He had been suspended in some sort of limbo when Harry was in his place. He was stuck in our time, yes, but yours as well. He could hear conversations at the Ministry, discussing the existence of the dust, which they sought to destroy. And these conversations were from the future."

"So, you already knew where it was, then?" Ron asked, growing intrigued despite himself.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Ella replied. "I had to travel to Ireland, where the dust originates. Up in Ulster. There, in a series of caves set back in the mountains, the dust lies in it's most original state—in great blocks and rocks that need to be ground down."

"I thought dust was created," Hermione cut in, her tone growing confused and somewhat frustrated. She struggled to maintain her composure, and both Ron and Harry grinned. Hermione took a deep swig of wine.

"It was, originally," Ella said. "But you see, the woman who created it passed on her teachings to her sister, who vowed to only put the dust to good use. She created more, and hid it away in Ireland, where only she knew it could be found. However, the Ministry found it later and decided to put it to use."

"So this Henry, he helped you?" Ron was struggling to keep up now, much like he used to in class. Ella nodded patiently.

"He and his betrothed, Annabelle. They had seen how Harry and I…well, they knew my feelings for him. Henry had heard your ministry speaking of the location of the dust, so they brought me to the caves, smuggled within their train…"

"Train?" Ron asked, as if he had just stumbled upon something great. "There were no trains in 1616." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"No, a train as in a…what, a caravan?" Ella asked, turning to Harry, who nodded. "Many horses and carriages and the like. They brought me out to Ulster, keeping me hidden from the eye. Many presumed me to be dead, and Annabelle and Henry took great care to make sure people's thoughts stayed that way. When we reached Ulster, they used their trip as an excuse to be married within the highlands, while I searched the caves, one by one, to find what I was looking for?"

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Ron breathed, fully emerged in the story.

Ella's brow knitted in confusion.

"Ron," Harry said, suppressing a laugh. "Obviously, if she is sitting here."

"Right," Ron said, reddening, and Hermione turned to giggle into her palm. "But how did you know it would work?"

"I didn't," Ella said with a shrug. "Not really. But in my heart, I knew what I wanted more than anything. More than a life free of the shackles I had known, I wanted Harry. And so I did what I thought to be the right method. I ground up a block of a gold rock, presuming it to be the dust, and I was lucky that it was. It brought me here, just as I was in 1616, right down to my attire."

Harry leaned over and kissed the corner of her mouth. Hermione grinned soppily, and then wound her hand around Ron's. Ron, who seemed as if he was struggling with a great amount of admiration and was impressed by Ella, sighed and mumbled:

"Well, that love story isn't epic or anything." He smiled slowly at Ella. "Hey, do you want to try some firewhiskey? Did they have that back in your day?"

"Ron," Hermione scolded. "There's no such thing as back in her day, she's in our day-"

"Actually," Ella interrupted. "I would love some. I grew quite accustomed to the stuff, it was at every wedding faire I attended."

"I think Ron has a new drinking buddy," Hermione said as Ron shot from his seat and headed towards the kitchen. She pouted at Harry. "Sorry."

"I'm not," Harry said, as Ella snuggled in closer to him, and he put his arm around her shoulders. She smiled up at him, her eyes shining, and Harry felt complete like he never had before.


End file.
